Vengeful Heart
by Svren
Summary: AU. Thrown from a future in which Kronos won the War, a desperate deal with a dying goddess saddles Percy with a second chance—and her two young children, Artemis and Apollo. Surrounded by deception and intrigue, he finds himself drawn into a plot older than the gods themselves. Werewolf!Percy, Time-travel-fic.
1. Macabre Black

**Author's Note—** welcome to to new and improved version of Forgotten Promises, now re-named Vengeful Heart. A big, lovely thank you to all those who have stuck with me through my period of inactivity. I hope this chapter can make it up to you.

I find it odd how it took me six chapters to type 11k words before, but now I can surpass it easily in one.

I'm not able to respond to reviews today; truly, I _am_ sorry. I'm leaving to visit my relatives and am at the airport, posting this right before my scheduled boarding. If I left it any later, you would've gotten this about a month later. I _promise_ I'll answer when I get back.

A big thank you to all those who voted: _SpartanWarrior117, Experimental Agent 1123, Intellectually, Clefspear, starwarsfan2296, Akarshit Dawra, foreshadowingsecrets, Personas, 93, NightsPoison, TheHarbringerofDeath, prince of the seas, Lmb111514, Kitiara Woodbane, Sol and G'syr, sniperjun889, ndndtsplz,_ and all of those who have stuck with me before the re-write came out. Thank you :)

- sol

P.S. Well, I've decided to entered this in the Cup of Tea challenge by Fanmortals. Wish me luck!

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><p><em>-X-<em>

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><p><strong>Vengeful Heart<strong>  
><strong>- by Solaerius<strong>

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><p>"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."<br>_(Charles Baudelaire)_

**Prologue**  
><em><strong>Macabre Black<strong>_

The early morning had dawned bright and clear, but by mid-day, storm clouds roiled in from the North, shrouding the world in darkness, sending torrents of rain clashing down upon the ruins of New York City.

There were seven thousand mortals gathered around the Empire State Building. Some were wearing expensive suits while others looked like they'd just rolled out of bed— though in a twisted sort of logic, it was the truth. Sleek fingers of rain combed the ashes from their hair, slipping down their faces and dripping off their chins in staccato beats that were lost in the rumbling of thunder. Sparse blares of lightning illuminated their expressions and cast grotesque shadows under their eyes—fearful, confused, horrified.

For this wasn't the Manhattan they were accustomed to seeing.

There was no city—not any longer. Buildings lay smashed to bits and pieces, and broken glass glinted darkly in the storm's light, distorting the miniature rivers cutting thick furrows into the pavement and streets. Vines, easily as thick as a grown man's leg, curled possessively over cars and people alike, slowly reeling them in until they resembled overgrown plants than humans. Venus flytrap-like maws with spiny, needling teeth lay half-closed and tilted up to the rain, their once bright colors a muted gray.

Claws of fire-twisted glass and half melted rebars jutted out of the pavement and walls, ready to snare the unwary in their grasps. Slick pools of oil seeped from the pores of destroyed cars, diffusing with the water until the rivers had become alight with noxious swirls of colors, swirling paper-thin over the surface.

Boots crunched through the remains of what was once an expensive law firm or bank, but it was hard to tell under the multitude of rushing tides and crashing roars. The storm drains had long overflowed, and Manhattan had become a veritable river.

The Empire State Building, once a proud manifestation of the city's spirit, lay in ruins, just like the rest of them. The lightning rod affixed to the very top of the building was jutting stubbornly out of the ground; more than half was threaded into the pavement, a good two hundred feet of jagged steel.

The sides of the building was scorched, and the pavement around had crumpled like an aluminum can, protruding out in systematic ridges and peaks—reminiscent to that of a mountain. Grooves were scraped into the detritus at certain places, almost like chariot wheels had run across the ground, which was _absurd._

The front lobby was blasted open and exposed to the open sky. They could see where a large marble block and what seemed to be a very large _cage_ was set in the center of the polished linoleum floors. The marble could have come from an old fashioned movie set for an execution; it would not have looked out-of-place. A black cloth had been thrown haphazardly around the cage, obscuring it from view. The edges were frayed and it was sagging in certain places, rain coalescing off in cold ropes of water.

The mortals took in the scene before them, confusion spreading like a plague over the crowd. They took comfort in their sheer numbers alone.

"What are we doing here?" one of the mortals whispered to another, who only shrugged helplessly.

"Beats me. We can't get out of here; there's some sort of invisible force that stops us from leaving. I really don't know what's going on anymore."

Soon, more voices began to join in on their conversation, some quiet, some loud, all of their words mixing into a murmuring tide of unfulfilled questions. Only three figures, hidden deep into the heart of the restless crowd, remained silent. The only girl of the three was shaking, caught between anger and fear. Her hand clenched and unclenched around the green-eyed boy's wrist, and judging by his slight wince, she was slowly crushing his bones into powder.

"We need to do it _now,"_ she said through gritted teeth, careful to keep her voice low and their conversation hidden. "Now's our only chance."

The other boy, the dark eyed one that reeked of shadows and death, put a restraining hand on the girl's shoulder. A telltale flash of metal strapped to his forearm warned that they were no ordinary civilians.

"No, Thalia. We'll get caught."

"Nico's right," the first boy added, wincing as she tightened her grip on his arm, "and really, you're strangling me, Thals. I don't think I'll be able to fight if you take off my arm."

Thalia only patted Percy's cheek with her other hand, a wry smirk curling her lips up.

"You're a big boy, you can handle it."

Despite himself, Percy grinned back. Nico hid his smile behind one gloved hand. But whatever he was going to say was cut off when metal hinges rasped open. The threadbare cloth covering the top of the cage slipped off like liquid mercury. There was a sudden sharp intake of breath.

There were children.

The demigods' bloodstained fingers curled around the cold, unyielding bars, leaving crimson fingerprints in the condensation before it was washed away by the lashing rain.

An outraged cry tore from the throats of the mortals.

"Human traffickers…!"

"…what the hell is going on?"

"Someone, call the—"

"—no connection—"

And then, Percy's blood ran cold and he felt himself flinching backwards, his fingers digging deep into his palms, hard enough to draw blood. Revulsion twisted his features. Beside him, Nico hissed like a cat, his hand twitching towards the sword hidden in the folds of his cloak.

"_Silence_."

The voice wasn't particularly loud, but there was a freezing quality of it that was low and savage yet somehow regal. As if someone had turned the dial on the volume switch, the mortals became deathly silent.

The heavy _thunk_ of boot steps. Disbelieving murmurs.

Golden eyes.

Kronos stood on top of the water, his feet leaving slight ripples when he walked. If Percy looked closely, he could feel how the rain fell slower around the Titan and sometimes seemed to avoid him altogether.

Spreading his arms grandly, he gave his spectators a charming smile.

"This is the beginning of a new history; a new legend—the beginning of the Sixth Age."

Outraged mutterings. A braver soul, somewhere in the back of the crowd, shouted out:

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing with those children? I'll call the—arrggh!"

A long, feathered arrow stuck out of his eye socket, the butt end still quivering with unexpended force. It punched through one side of his head and embedded itself through the other in a spatter of gore.

Hot blood wept from the wound, curving down one side of his nose and trailing down his cheek. The mortals watched in muted horror as he staggered back, remaining eye wide with stunned disbelief and pain. Then, with a dull wheeze, his body arched gracelessly through the air, flopping to the ground in a spread eagled pose of agony, a trail of blood marking his path.

The mortals huddled closer to each other, the women grasping the hands of their children, turning them away protectively from the scene, as if to protect their innocence for a while longer.

The blonde archer remained impassive. Slowly, he lowered his bow, moonlight stippling up and down the quivering bowstring. A second arrow notched before they could blink, but the man with the golden eyes put a restraining hand on the archer's arm and turned the arrow away.

"That's enough, Luke."

Beside Percy, Thalia hissed in a breath that sounded suspiciously like _'traitor_.' Though some naive part of him still stubbornly wanted to believe that Luke had good hidden deep in his heart, the bloodshed he'd seen in the last few days was enough to shred what remained of his innocence.

But he had known, from the moment Annabeth had given him that tiny little scroll, that they were doomed to fall. It wasn't that he didn't believe in himself; it was far from that. But what exactly could be do that a whole pantheon of gods —inexorable in might—could not accomplish?

It had only been a matter of time before Olympus fell.

He remembered it too well. The memories had haunted his dreams day in and day out.

They _had_ held up surprisingly well. It had been going downhill, but he had been able to convince his father to move his forces to Typhon. Hades had come out of the Underworld, and Zeus had his ass handed to him enough times to deflate his ego and accept their help.

Then he and Luke were fighting in Olympus' throne room. Luke was using Backbiter and not Kronos' scythe, which he wielded with deceptive ease.

But however good the son of Hermes was, Percy was not a son of the Big Three for no reason. He started attacking faster, drawing strength in reserves he didn't know he had, and for a while, the possibility that he would defeat Luke was growing exponentially.

Then there had been a scream of pain. Percy faltered, and if it wasn't for the Achilles' Curse, he would've been impaled through the heart. He whirled around to see Grover sliding off a scythe, his blood staining the metal a dark red, his arms still outstretched as though trying to shield Percy from the blow.

It had been aimed for the small of his back.

Golden eyes met his and smiled.

Percy screamed.

The world exploded.

He wasn't sure what happened; his vision had become a haze of red—Grover's blood, the blood of his best and first friend, splattered across his chest. The satyr's whiskery chin trembled, but he still managed to smile shakily at Percy before his soul was torn away.

They were too late.

Kronos had already risen. Luke was somehow alive after the extraction. Somewhere by the base of Athena's throne, Annabeth screamed in denial. Her arm was bent at a funny angle, but she scrabbled for a hold of her knife and lunged at Luke.

Luke knocked it aside easily, and his hand wrapped around her neck. There was a tear in his eye.

_(as if he'd really cared)_

"I'm sorry, Annabeth," he whispered.

He flung her into the wall with a sickening crack. She slid down the side limply, smearing the length in her blood. Percy yelled in anger. The ground shook, but before he could charge blindly after Luke, he saw Kronos ignoring him completely and striding purposefully towards… the corner of the room?

No…

Bessie mooed in despair. The ophiotaurus swum in agitation around his small sphere of water as it was stained golden from the light reflecting off of Kronos' scythe.

Those large, sad eyes fixed on Percy, and in that moment, he understood the stark truth.

Grover wasn't the only innocent life to be lost today.

"Help me, Lady Hestia," he had whispered to the empty, dead hearth. The goddess wasn't anywhere near Olympus, but he swore he could see flame-filled eyes smiling down at him.

'I give you my blessing, Percy,' she murmured, one of her fingers gently stroking the ornate designs of Pandora's pithos.

Fire filled him, consuming him from the inside, but it wasn't painful. There was warmth to the flames that enveloped his heart and renewed his will. Bessie mooed in encouragement.

"The last line of defence…" he murmured, drawing Riptide backwards, the golden tip brushing against the side of his cheek as he took meticulous aim.

Luke's eyes widened. He shouted something that was lost in the roar of adrenaline rushing through Percy's ears.

He threw.

"… is the hearth."

Riptide embedded itself in Bessie's head, killing him instantly. The blade burst into warm red flames that licked up the ophiotaurus' corpse with surprising speed, leaving nothing but a sprinkle of ashes that were blown away by a strong sea breeze.

Kronos roared. His scythe cleaved the water sphere in two, but it was too late.

Percy smiled vindictively, but it immediately faded when Kronos hauled up Annabeth by the hair, who was still unconscious. He put the tip under her chin and glared at Percy.

Percy and Luke both shouted, "No!" though Luke's was more forceful.

"Kronos…" Percy growled.

"My Lord," Luke begged. "Please… spare the girl."

Kronos sneered. "You've gone soft, Luke."

Percy seized Kronos' distraction and began to sprint towards Annabeth, but before he could, one gloved hand slid over his mouth, silencing him and pulling him into the shadows in the same graceful motion. He had only time to widen his eyes and struggle before he was pulled away.

The nauseating feeling of shadow travel tugged at his gut. Sounds roared past his ears, the darkness screeching words he couldn't understand.

As soon as it had started, it was over.

Then gravity took control.

Percy used the momentum to tear himself out of his captor's grip, executing a perfect front roll, coming up crouched and in a defensive stance. Riptide had re-appeared in his pocket, and he uncapped it, the shining bronze alight with hearth fire.

"Who are you and…" he suddenly recognized the figure. "Nico? What the hell was that?"

Dark eyes met his. The son of Hades was still lying where he had fallen, all twisted limbs and shredded clothing. His Stygian Ice sword was sheathed by his side, but Percy noticed how a long strip of it was broken off and ragged at the edges.

"Percy," he mumbled tiredly, rubbing his eyes and scrunching up his face as though trying to push the exhaustion away.

"Why did you bring me here?" he growled. "Kronos was going to kill Annabeth… I need to—send me back!"

Nico shook his head. "Can't," he muttered. "Sleepy. Bed now." His eyes rolled back in his head and his entire body slumped backwards, hitting the ground with a soft thump.

Percy was prepared to slap Nico back into consciousness, but a bucket of water suddenly emptied itself over his head, drenching him thoroughly. Spluttering, he faltered, spinning around to see Thalia with her leg wrapped in splints and a bucket still upended in her hands.

"Thalia… what are you doing?"

"You needed to cool off before you killed Nico," she said bluntly. Percy scowled at the prone form of Nico before turning away.

"Annabeth's hurt. I need to get her."

Thalia shook her head and sat down with a heavy thump. Her spiky hair was flattened on one side and covered liberally in stone dust. She patted the ground next to her, and Percy reluctantly lowered his guard and sat down.

"We lost the battle," she had told him, with a world-weariness that should not exist on someone so young. "Kronos had back-up. He revived several of the oldest Titans, and… we just couldn't handle them all, Percy. We were already short on numbers… most of the remaining campers were either killed or captured. The Hunters, too. I don't know how Nico escaped. He shadow travelled me out of Hera's statue. We're at one of our old safe houses, one me and Luke and Annabeth built. It's safe for now, but we need to move as soon as Nico wakes up. He went back to help you, but monsters were already on Olympus and were marching towards the Throne Room, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to do much in time, so he got you out—"

"Annabeth was still there!" he said hotly, but there was no more fire in his voice, only numb acceptance.

"Luke will vouch for her. I hate the traitor, but we know each other too well. After being on the run together for years, we can predict each other's next moves without thinking."

"What's our next move, then?" said Percy, absently fiddling with Riptide's lid. There was a thin hairline fracture down one end. "We still have hope—so long as we live, we can revive the gods, we can… we can…"

He trailed off bitterly.

_(for it _was_ hopeless—what exactly_ could_ they do?)_

Thalia picked up on his silence.

"We free the other demigods. We will fight the Titans to our last breath."

"To our last breath," he echoed.

They watched the sun rise, sending streaks of blood reds and golds and silvers across the skies, melting away the velveteen blanket of night.

_(hope is where the hearth is)_

Percy jerked out of the memory with a sudden gasp, breaking through the flashback and blinking his eyes to clear his thoughts. He had completely missed a good portion of Kronos' speech, but judging by the rapidly paling features of the mortals, it had been nothing good.

"— listening to me?"

Percy blinked innocently. Thalia sighed in exasperation, despite the situation. Her eyes never left Kronos', and it was a miracle that her gaze hadn't already burned a hole through him.

"Kronos is going to reveal the existence of the gods to the mortals. He wants to execute the demigods that won't turn to his side. Annabeth won't, I'm sure her pride wouldn't allow it, but Luke would have vouched for her."

"We act then," he finished.

Thalia nodded.

"Not the best of plans, but we don't have much to work with."

Percy was about to respond when Kronos' voice cut him off, echoing over the silent city and the assembled mortals. It was full of vindictive pride.

"We are here today to decide the fates of traitors to my cause," he said in a sedate but carrying voice. "They are accused of—"

"They're _children_!" someone in the crowd yelled in anger. Kronos carried on as though he'd never spoken.

"—plotting against the Titan army and working with the treacherous gods—"

"You're crazy!"

"—oh, I assure you, the gods are quite real. Or were, I should say. With their thrones destroyed, they have faded into nothing but a memory. Perhaps a demonstration is in order…" he mused. "…yes, that would be most helpful. Ethan, if you don't mind—"

Without any more prompting, Ethan Nakamura opened the cage doors and hauled out a little daughter of Hephaestus, her siblings' hands reaching for her still with cries of protest. Percy growled and started to stalk forward, but Nico's hand closed around his arm, tight and unforgiving.

"Not yet. You'll blow our cover," he said through gritted teeth. Percy snarled, but he knew the son of Hades was right.

Kronos put a deceptively gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, and he chuckled when she tried to bite him. Snapping his hand out of reach, he grasped the demigod's hair with one hand and pulled, forcing her head up and for her neck to remain painfully exposed. Despite her efforts to keep silent, a whimper escaped.

"Now…" he growled.

Her form was surrounded in golden light. She grew taller, her form filling out, beautiful in a rough kind of way. Gradually, though, she began to shrink again, becoming hunched over and frail, hair turning a lustrous white, face become old and wrinkled.

The only thing that never changed were her eyes. A dark amber, they burned with hatred, undiminished by Time.

She turned to ash and was gone.

Her siblings, still in the cage, howled in anger and reached their arms through the bars as though they could strange Kronos.

"Mutant," was whispered through the crowd of mortals, murmuring like a restless tide. Kronos threw back his head and laughed.

"I am Kronos, Titan King and Ruler of Time. Bow before me, mortals, for you should be honored to be my subjects. But I am not here to initiate your loyalty. I have gathered you here today as witnesses to the first trial of the Sixth Age… bring her forth!"

Percy's heart nearly stopped.

Half of Annabeth's face was a horrible mix of black and blue and green, and her lip was split. The momentum of being thrown at the marble block made her hands shoot out and brace herself against the corners of the stone, gasping heavily. Her blonde hair formed a curtain in front of her face, and her shoulders shook when she breathed.

Krios, the Titan with the stupid ram horns on his head, jerked her arms behind her back, heedless of her hiss of pain. Luke flinched.

Some of the closer —and braver— mortals started to move forward, but the people beside them pulled them back. As unable to see through the Mist as they were, even they could sense something distinctly evil about the Titan.

"Annabeth Chase," Kronos intoned, watching impassively as she snarled breathlessly at him. "Daughter of Athena. You are lucky, extremely so, that Luke has vouched for you. He has convinced me that you may be useful."

Krios slowly turned towards Kronos. "What is to be done with her, my Lord?"

Kronos smiled at the frozen crowd. Percy held his breath and prayed to all the gods he could think of that their gamble would pay off.

"It has been suggested that she be put under Luke's charge, and when she has proven her loyalty, to be transferred to a division in which her talents can be used accordingly."

Percy sagged in relief, and for the first time, he was grateful for Annabeth and Luke's past history together. But Kronos' face hardened as he turned back to the crowd, and suddenly, cold dread bubbled in his throat.

"But they have the lily-livered hearts of cowards," he hissed. "Let this be a warning to you all; there will be no place for the black marked. And no treachery in my kingdom shall go unpunished!" Pausing for a second, his vindictive gaze met Annabeth's defiant one.

"Any last words, half-blood?"

Annabeth smiled a bloody smile. She spat in his face.

"You won't… win. You might kill me, you might kill us all, but we'll come back one day and… haunt you for the rest of your miserable existence. You can't… destroy Hope."

Kronos snarled. It seemed as though her words had struck a nerve.

The caged demigods were beginning to shout in alarm, reaching through the bars, but Annabeth herself remained quietly angelic and wise beyond her years. The rain framed her face in soft curls, and even as she shivered, her stormy eyes were piercing.

Percy knew what was going to happen exactly one second before it did. Cursing, he shoved Thalia to Nico, who, by unspoken agreement, fastened his arms around her as she struggled and screamed silently. He pushed his way through the crowd roughly, trying not to draw attention to himself while going as fast as he could.

"Krios_, I want her head!"_

Pandemonium erupted. Thalia shrieked and renewed her efforts to break free, forcibly elbowing Nico in the face. One of her blows connected and his nose cracked. A stream of hot blood began to gush down, but he paid it no attention and only tightened his grip.

Percy had abandoned all pretenses of stealth and was running full tilt towards the front, using the water on the ground to push others aside and fuel his own strength. Oddly enough, Kronos still hadn't noticed him yet. He got the feeling Luke did —he'd always been more perceptive than he'd let on— but had said nothing.

"My Lord…!" Luke implored desperately.

Krios had chained Annabeth's hands behind her back and she was bent at an unnatural angle over the marble block. Her hair straggled in front of her face, blonde locks streaked with blood.

Scanning the crowd, her gray eyes met Percy's, who was still desperately trying to get to her, pushing and punching his way through the swath of bodies. But there were too many people blocking his way, and as he lashed out in one last desperate attempt to save Annabeth, her grey eyes swerved to meet his.

There was some semblance of surprise and relief on her features, but it wasn't for herself.

"For sentimental reasons…" Kronos mused, flipping a sickeningly familiar knife up and down in his hand. He tossed it to Krios, who caught it with one hand, the other slipping up the black cloak —like an executioner's—that hid his face in deep shadow. "You get to end your life the way it began."

Percy watched with muted horror as Annabeth's knife began its upwards ascent, singing a melancholy melody as it cut through the air. Annabeth smiled gently at Percy, and in those eyes, he read a million different thoughts, before…

Before her head was severed from her body.

For a moment, something inside of Percy lurched. He froze where he stood, the sight of Annabeth's headless body searing into his memory. Blood —thick, viscous— dripped slowly as it diffused into the rain with swirls of pink mist.

He was going to be sick. There was a swelling pressure building in his chest, suffocating his breath. He heard some of the mortals shouting in outrage, but it was dimmed under the roar of blood rushing through his ears.

But he could still hear Thalia's agonized cry, cutting across the din. She had broken free of Nico's hold and was bolting towards the front, electricity crackling off of her skin. Her eyes had a wild sheen to them, and he knew, at that moment, that she was beyond help.

_"ANNABETH!"_

Something inside of him shattered. The mortals parted before him in silent agreement.

He threw back his head and roared, but no sound passed through his lips. The pressure forced its way up, and if Percy had his eyes open, he would have seen a colossal tower of fire surge from his mouth.

Kronos was so caught off guard that he allowed himself to be hit.

For the first few meters, the fire was completely invisible, save for the heat waves distorting the images around it and the water that rose up in a thick mist upon contact. From there, it turned the deep blue of superheated fire, eviscerating anything it touched to ashes.

Hearth fire could create. It could heal and nurture.

But it could also burn. It could hurt and destroy. It was a two sided blade, for when comfort failed, only violence and carnage remained.

Krios was instantly incinerated, a hole punched clean through his chest.

Krios had taken the brunt of the damage, but Kronos did not escape unscathed. His right arm was burned off at the elbow, the heat instantly cauterizing the wound. His scythe melted in the heat, liquefying into a thin pool of metal that dissolved into fire.

Thalia seized their momentary distraction to slam her knives into the chest of an enemy demigod. There were ten in total, and they were beginning to close in around her. A flash of shadows; Nico was picking the lock to the demigods' cage.

Chaos ensured.

Percy darted forward, something inside of him—what remained of his humanity— warped irrevocably. Kronos was still in a shocked catatonic sort of state, staring incredulously at his stump of an arm and the pool of molten metal beginning to be carried away by the downpour of rain.

But he was not a Titan for no reason, for even so, he managed to dodge Riptide's slash at his chest. He knocked the weapon aside with enough force for Percy to feel as though something in his arm had snapped from the torsion.

Undeterred, Percy pressed forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thalia eviscerate a demigod and electrocute him until he was nothing more than a flesh lump. The others stopped, seemingly shocked at her blunt violence.

_(as if they hadn't done the same thing countless times)_

In frustration, Nico had melted the lock with hellfire, giving up his attempts at opening it subtly. It tired him, but as he ushered the half-bloods out of the cage, there was nothing but grim resolve on his face. He caught Percy's eye and made a face; even without speaking, Percy knew he was saying, _'if I die here, it's all your fault.'_

Percy smirked at him, and focused his attention back to Kronos, who was still nimbly sweeping aside his strikes like they were nothing more than flies.

By now, the rest of the mortals had fled. Some of the braver ones stayed far out of range but still within sight, hidden beneath hastily stacked barricades. At least there wouldn't be any collateral damage.

Kronos kicked him in the chest. It knocked the wind out of him, and he staggered back several steps, wheezing, but was able to maintain his hold on Riptide.

"Did you really think we came here without back-up, Jackson?" Kronos asked softly, and that tone was somehow more dangerous than any screaming could ever be.

A howl pierced the air.

Thalia froze and her head shot up. She had time to scream, "Behind you!" before she was pulled back into her fight, narrowly missing decapitation by an axe. As it was, it just barely brushed the tips of her hair when she ducked; she tackled the monster, sending them both crashing to the ground, lost to sight.

Percy cursed. He turned to see white fangs and a snarling pink maw, too close for comfort. He thrust Riptide between its eyes, but it bounced off without leaving a scratch. His eyes widened and his breath caught in surprise; he was barely able to dodge the thing's claws.

But it was a hollow victory, for he'd backed himself right into the lightning rod and tripped over it when it'd slammed against his knees.

Kronos laughed.

In the last second, he ripped a piece of the metal rod off and shoved through the roof of the monster's mouth, impaling its brain in a soft spatter of grey matter, killing it instantly.

"They're werewolves! Don't let it touch you!" Thalia shouted, and loosed another silver arrow. Nico cursed, and Percy was still wide eyed and panting, holding a jagged piece of mortal metal in his hands.

Then there was the wet slurp of metal sliding through flesh and back out again, blood spraying the back of Percy's head.

He turned to see Luke pulling Backbiter out of a demigod's back.

Ethan. His eye patch was stained with blood, and his good eye would forever be fixed in an expression of excruciating pain and surprise.

Percy got into a ready stance, but Luke batted it aside.

"I'm on your side!" he yelled.

"_What_?" Percy hissed.

There was no more time for talk, however, for both of them were suddenly soaked as gallons of water poured onto their heads.

Unimaginable pain. For a few disorienting seconds, he thought he had fallen back into the Styx.

He was dissolving…

A part of him trickled away. He dropped to his knees, Riptide rolling away with a tinny ring. Dimly, he could hear Luke screaming and writhing on the ground, clawing at his throat and ripping at the ground with his fingers.

Percy was suddenly left staring at the sky as a spasm of heat brought him down. Kronos' leering face appeared in his circle of vision.

"Water from the Little Tiber. Purifying, isn't it? Can't you feel yourself growing weaker by the second?"

Beside him, Luke gasped, "Achilles…"

The Achilles' curse was dissolving, trickling out with the water that had drenched them so thoroughly. Cursing, Percy forced himself to his knees, lurching sickeningly as the world pressed in and throbbed in an irregular beat. Kronos watched him with amusement.

"My, how the mighty have fallen… how does it feel to kneel by my feet, demigod?"

Percy didn't dignify that with a response. Drawing strength in the rain and water flowing around him and caressing his skin soothingly, he rasped out, "Luke… get the others and run. I'll find you. Tell Thalia _Delta N-6_. She'll know what it means."

They exchanged a look. Percy didn't trust him, but he was the lesser of two evils. Luke grimaced and tossed Percy a sword of silver, which he deftly caught. The balance was off, but it would suffice. Kronos clicked his tongue.

"Running away so soon, Luke? I always knew you were a coward…"

Luke gritted his teeth, but did as Percy asked of him and began to fight his way towards Thalia. Kronos made to follow, but Percy drew his sword.

"Your fight is with me."

The Titan chuckled lightly.

"And that is your delusion. I do have better things to be doing. Until next time, then, Perseus."

He was gone in a flash of bright light. For a second, Percy was bemused, fully alert in case there was some trick. It wasn't like Kronos to run away when he could easily kill him—that was not his style.

And then, he heard the howls.

Luke had already restrained Thalia and had flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while she was screaming Percy's name and beating her bound hands against his back. Nico was herding the demigods away, but he looked back and caught Percy's eye; Percy gave him a shaky smile and a firm nod.

Nico's glare brought back a clear message; _you'd better survive, or I'll resurrect you and kill you myself._

He turned and ran.

Percy was alone and surrounded, the predators closing in.

_Kronos planned ahead, _he thought grimly, spinning Riptide around one finger and getting into a ready stance.

The first werewolf leaped.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>"Luke, you <em>bastard<em>! Let go of me, or I swear I'm going to castrate you with a rusty spoon and force-feed it to you! I need to—Percy, he's—"

Luke shivered at her curses, but only tightened his grip over her legs and plodded forward, Nico eyeing his back distrustfully. It had been a sign of trust to offer to take point, and he knew that Nico —or any of the other demigods, in fact— could stick him with a blade and he'd die. The Achilles Curse was gone.

He'd gave them no reason to trust them, after all, and he'd freely admit it. He'd always had his doubts about joining Kronos—it had been a rash, spur-of-the-moment decision, and once he was in there was no way out.

Annabeth's death had been the last straw. He'd always cared for her; she was the little sister he'd never had, the family he'd always dreamed of having.

_(the family he destroyed)_

"He'll be fine, Thalia," Nico said with forced confidence. The girl only glared at him, her silvery clothes rumpled. Luke had managed to snag her bow when they ran for it, but the quiver was empty and if they ran into any werewolves, it wouldn't do them any good.

Then, there was an alarmed shout coming from far behind them, followed by a heavy thud, as though someone had fallen. Cursing, Luke clapped his hand over Thalia's mouth, stifling her desperate scream before they were heard. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he began to run, stumbling through the underbrush, praying that Percy's sacrifice was not in vain.

A second screech broke through the air, chilling and eerie in sound.

"It's closer than before," one of the demigods gasped, shivering in fear. His sibling hushed him gently, though she looked frightened herself.

"It'll be okay," she soothed. "We're out, we'll be safe."

Then Luke was knocked down in a blur of gray, hitting the ground with an alarmed shout. Thalia tumbled off of him, catching herself in a textbook flip before getting into a ready stance.

Backbiter was the only thing between Luke and the werewolf that was pinning him to the ground. Fish-belly gray fur shone silkily in the dimming light of the moon.

A dark chuckle, rasping like a wolf's howl. A ripple of shadows.

"I think not, demigods."

Yellow lupine eyes opened in the darkness, revealing slitted pupils and long, curving canines that showed through his bottom lip. His hair was long and shaggy, and there was something about his presence that screamed _inhuman_.

"Lycaon," Thalia spat. She reached for an arrow, but seemed to realize that she was out of them and reluctantly drew a wickedly sharp hunting dagger.

Lycaon only looked amused. "My dear Thalia. Tell me, Huntress, why do you run when it is futile?" he purred. "Soon, all of you will meet the same end as that of your foolish friend." He stalked closer, tapping one long nail against a young demigod's cheek, carving a thin red furrow into the soft skin. "Hmm…" he mused vindictively. "Yes… you do not know how he screamed when I tore him apart slowly. He has such a _magical_ voice."

A blur of darkness; an icy blade. Lycaon caught it between two fingers.

"That was foolish of you, son of Hades."

"Percy's not dead," Nico insisted through narrowed eyes. "I don't know what you're playing at, but…"

"Ahh…" Lycaon chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down their spines. "There are worse things than death, scion of darkness. I thought you, of all people, should know this."

Luke yelled something incomprehensible, and with a horrible crunch, Backbiter was flung away by the werewolf. Its claws dug into his shoulders, keeping him still. Fangs gleamed.

Thalia shouted, "_No_!"

Then there was an enraged howl, and the gray wolf was bowled off its paws, rolling helplessly as a streak of black thrashed and bit its soft belly, tearing it apart gruesomely in sprays of blood.

Lycaon watched the whole thing with an interested air, not at all caring that one of his werewolves was currently killing another. With a horrible whimper, it went limp, its monstrous head flopping lifelessly to the ground.

The black wolf stared at it for a moment longer, blood dripping from its fangs, before backing away and facing the demigods and Lycaon.

It bared its teeth, and some of the younger demigods backed away in fear, the older ones eyeing it warily. Still, there was something sickeningly familiar about those dark, dark eyes.

"What's this?" Lycaon asked softly, and despite the mild demeanor, it was laced with an edge of poison. "Strife in my legions? It's always the young ones that cause the most trouble."

There was a snarl and the wolf's lips curled backwards.

"You tried… to break… me. You'll have to… try harder."

It spoke with a rasping, awkward accent. A wolf's vocal cords were not accustomed to much more than growls or grunts, but its words were clear enough. Lycaon's eyebrows rose.

"Impressive…" he murmured. "Most of my werewolves never have enough resolve to speak in a human tongue. But no matter. I am your leader, your _sire._ You _will_ obey me."

Lycaon paused, musing.

"Yes… I think that would be a suitable enough punishment. Kill the demigods you've tried so desperately to defend. _I command you_."

The black wolf's eyes glazed over, and its muscles loosened in preparation to stalk forward. Glittering bronze claws slowly unsheathed and sunk into the rich loam of the forest floor.

Then, in a burst of speed Thalia didn't even see coming, it had her pinned to the ground, teeth barely an inch away. She could feel its growls reverberating in her chest like a bass drum. Murky, glassy eyes stared into her own, and she was struck at how intelligent they were.

Pushing down the icy fingers of fear clawing down her spine, she swallowed her fear and whispered softly, "Percy?"

The wolf blinked. Some of the hostility writ in the set of his shoulders retreated, and he backed away several paces, still staring unblinkingly at her. Slowly getting to her feet, cautious that she was talking to a wild animal, she soothed, "It's alright, Percy. You're safe now. He can't hurt you here. Come back to us."

"Well?" Lycaon demanded harshly. "What are you waiting for? _Attack!"_

The wolf made a half snarl, half moaning sound, keeping his head bowed. He was trembling, as though he was being pulled in two different directions at once.

"Thal…ia. Please…"

His eyes were beseeching, pleading with her. She could tell from the strain on his face that he was close to losing control, but as her hand twitched to her knife, she knew she couldn't. She couldn't lose another, not so close after the first, when the loss was still fresh.

Luke didn't have such qualms. He came up from behind and swung the hilt of Backbiter into his head, _hard_.

Percy swayed slightly, and Luke took that chance to give him a couple more whacks —though Thalia swore that some of the hits were a lot harsher than they needed to be— before he finally collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs.

The whole time, Lycaon stood unmoving.

"It would be nice to kill you all… my pack is hungry, but alas, I've been given strict orders to leave you alive and unharmed… mostly. Lord Kronos is merciful. It is a waste to spill godly blood, however tainted it may be. You have two days… two days to mourn your deaths, cut your losses, and join our army. Otherwise…"

He snapped his fingers—a sharp click. The werewolves began to retreat into the shadows until the only thing that remained to sight were their glowing eyes.

"… I will show you what things are worse than death."

The second he was gone, Thalia rushed towards Percy, falling to her knees and gently cradling his head between her slender hands. Nico got down next to her, a permanent line of tension between his eyebrows. Luke was on her other side, and while she glared at him for interrupting their moment, she did not herd him away.

"Come on, Percy, you're safe now. You can turn back."

There was no answer. The day's events wore down on Thalia —Annabeth's death, Luke's defection from Kronos, Percy getting bit… everything was too much, and now Percy wasn't waking up— she was overwhelmed in a cascade of red. With an angry cry, she hit him across the face.

Predator's eyes snapped open. For a moment, it seemed as though Percy didn't recognize her and would attack, but he blinked several times, his lips falling back over gleaming teeth.

"Tha…lia. Nico. Lu…ke."

It sounded difficult to talk in his wolf form, but Thalia nodded gently, her anger draining, furious and fast.

"Yeah, we're here now. Change back. We need to go."

Nico elbowed her, scowling at her brusque tone.

"What she means is, 'yes, sorry about that, we need to go before Lycaon changes his mind and eats us all. Are you feeling up to it?'"

It was hard to tell, but Percy looked like he'd rather crawl into a deep hole somewhere and die.

"I don't… know how," he admitted wearily.

"Is there some kind of code word you have to yell?" Nico muttered doubtfully, wiping the mud from his hands in smears of sullen brown. "Me and Bianca, we used to watch cartoons in the Lotus Casino. The superheroes always had to yell something to change form."

Percy's non-existent eyebrows shot into his non-existent hairline.

It was Luke who spoke next, still looking amused despite his near death experience. Backbiter now bore a ring of teeth marks.

"Think of being human, having arms and legs and toes. I think a lot of the difficulty comes with the mental part. You're starting to think more like an animal than a human… that's not an insult, but the way," he added.

Percy's black tinted eyes fixed on him in an uncanny glower. Added to the fact that he now had very point teeth and claws…

"I don't trust… _you_," he said bluntly.

"I'm not asking you to," said Luke defensively, crossing his arms. "Look, this isn't my first encounter with Lycaon and all of them, alright? Just trust me on this one."

Percy looked like he wanted to say more, but it was too difficult. He concentrated intently, his tongue poking out of his mouth, and Thalia couldn't help but think how adorable it made him look, like one of the ruffled wolf cubs Artemis would sometimes bring to their camp. The goddess always had an unexplained fondness for the creatures, and she would look down at them with bitter nostalgia when she thought the others weren't looking.

And then that moment of serenity was broken was Percy began to thrash, convulsing and shaking uncontrollably.

"What's going on?"

"He's changing!" Luke yelled, dragging the two of them back before they got hit with one of Percy's flailing claws.

Percy's blood burned with an icy fire, and it felt like claws were ripping him apart, piece by piece. His muscles contracted painfully and an aura of raw energy exploded from his body, but that didn't stop the agonizing pain that moved like liquid lightning underneath his skin.

Percy screamed in pure anguish.

His body was being stretched in all directions. The golden glow around him intensified until they averted their gaze. Nico stared at him in fascinated horror and even Luke seemed taken aback slightly as they watched the boy whose body was literally tearing itself apart.

Percy gasped in surprise and shock at the abruptness that the pain ended. His clouded vision cleared over, and while it wasn't as sharp as before, it was familiar and largely welcome. He got to his feet shakily, stumbling slightly when his senses decided that walking on two legs was just _wrong_.

After a few wobbling steps, he became aware of an uncomfortable prickling of his neck. Turning back to the others, he realized that they were still staring at him.

"What?"

He blinked and held up a hand to his throat. His voice was deeper than usual, slightly raspy from all the screaming he had done. It didn't sound like his. Frowning, he looked down at the thin sheet of water pooling around his feet, disrupted by the pattering of rain around them.

The reflection was foreign.

He was _supposed_ to see a boy of average height, ripped armor, messy black hair and bright green eyes. Instead, he got a tall warrior with hair blacker than a raven's wing and eyes that had taken on a blackened hue. His nails were sharp and looked like he could easily kill with them or rip through someone's throat. The tips of his canine teeth were visible when he smiled or talked, though he highly doubted he would be doing much of the former any time soon.

Thalia came forward and shakily put a hand on his arm. With a start, he realized that he towered over her. She used to be the tallest in their little group, and now her head only came up to his shoulder.

"It's alright…" she said hesitantly, fighting between what she had been taught and what she knew to be right. "We can live with this. We'll learn to. Let's go find the others."

Percy smiled thinly at her over his shoulder. He staggered away from them —away from humanity— occasionally tripping over his feet, trying to get used to his new form while moving as fast as he could.

"Where are you going?"

Percy turned to see that it was Nico who spoke. The boy's arms were crossed, and there was a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down.

"Away."

"The others are _this_ way, Percy."

Percy finally scowled; it was frightening with his elongated teeth and feral expression.

"I cannot. You smell like…" he trailed off, teeth gritted in anguish. "I might bite you by accident. I might kill you by accident. Lycaon can control… werewolves. I can't…"

They were silent for a moment longer. Then Luke spoke.

"But that's exactly what Kronos wants you to think. You're the leader of the camp. And the more time you spend with Lycaon's pack, or even in isolation, his bond over you strengthens since you have no motivation to fight him off. Divide and conquer."

Luke paused to give Percy some time to digest his information, before continuing. "And do you really think any of us could kill you in battle like that?"

"Or," said Percy, his words harsh, "that's exactly what Kronos wants me to do. But you would know, wouldn't you, _Luke?"_

Thalia opened her mouth to protest, but Luke shushed her gently. "That's fair enough," he replied calmly. "You do have no reason to trust me, other than my word. But I swear to you—"

Percy held up his hand, palm facing them. His fingers were curled inwards, casting it into shadow.

At first, Thalia thought he was telling Luke to shut up, but on closer examination, there was something silvery white against his hand, like a long forgotten brand or scar. Luke winced at the sight of it and turned his head away, radiating shame.

"What is it?"

Dark green eyes flickered up to hers, before dropping back down. He tucked his hand close and examined it in a careless fashion.

"Pit scorpion. It was the first time I trusted Luke, and he tried to kill me." At Thalia's slightly wide-eyed look, he tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully, amending, "Actually, no, that wasn't the first time. The first was the hellhound during Capture the Flag. That was you, wasn't it? Then it was the flying shoes that were supposed to drag me into Tartarus and almost got Grover instead." Smiling a gruesome smile, he continued, "_Then_ the Pit Scorpion. When that didn't kill me, you poisoned Thalia's Tree and we had to get the Golden Fleece before she died."

Thalia already knew of this, but it still hurt to see that one of the people she had sacrificed her life for was fully prepared to kill her to achieve his goals.

"You continue to say that you care for Annabeth. But you were the one that tricked her into holding up the sky. Maybe in Kronos' army, that's a sign of love, but among us _lowly humans_, it's _not_. You hosted Kronos. I don't know how you survived, but through you, he killed the innocent and corrupted countless others—"

"Enough!" Luke snapped, his temper finally breaking. "I know what I did, _alright_? I'm not proud of it, but unless you can go back in time and change the past, then—"

"So now you're innocent?" Percy's voice trembled with barely suppressed rage. His eyes were beginning to darken again, and Thalia could swear that his canines were becoming sharper. "You could kill the entire _world_—Hades, for all we know, you already _have_— and after a plea of innocence, you expect to be treated like a victim and to sweep the entire thing under the carpet? How many other have to die by your actions?"

"What's happened to you?" Luke demanded. "You're usually not so—"

"—you guys, calm down—"

"Realistic? I'm not a little child anymore, Luke. You'll find that it's harder to manipulate me now."

"—bitter."

"Getting bitten by Lycaon changes your view on things, wouldn't you think? Now, I'm the _thing _—not even good enough to be human— the Hunters of Artemis kill, the nightmare story adults tell to their children to keep them in line." A short, stiff pause. "What if I told you, Luke Castellan, that one day, you'll be nothing more than a story told around a campfire, a traitor to both sides, a spy, a vessel?"

Something about Percy's words struck a deep chord within Luke, for he roared wordlessly and charged, Thalia's yell for them to stop fighting blown away by the wind.

Luke lashed out at Percy with his fist, but faster than the eye could comprehend, Percy had brought his left hand up and stopped his strike cold, not even straining a muscle.

Leaning in close, he whispered softly, but with a hint of venom in his voice, "You ask me why I'm bitter, _Luke Castellan. _I'm bitter because all of this destruction is _your fault_. I'm bitter because even after overthrowing the gods, the casualties kept rising. Innocent lives lost. And… you're the reason why Annabeth is dead.

"We cannot co-exist together. My fatal flaw is loyalty, but you'll find that I can hold grudges almost as well as children of Hades."

_"I cared for her!" _Luke bellowed.

"A fat lot of good that did!" he shouted back. "Do you know that every single moment we weren't fighting, she was pleading with me not to kill you, that there was still good in your heart, buried somewhere deep within? And then she would have dreams where you tortured your victims, killing them slowly, not even bothering to grant them a merciless death. Do you know how she _screamed,_ how many nightmares that gave her, how many sleepless nights we _both_ had?"

Luke's eyes widened. "You… loved her…" he realized softly, his previous rage draining away. Percy's expression turned downcast, and the shadows licked icy fingers down his face. Something in his eyes flashed for a fraction of a second, too fast for Luke to tell what it was. Percy pushed him away, taking a few steps back.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, almost too quiet to hear. It was a tiny sound, a bitter, cruel smile of loss. "I did.

"You see now why I must leave. I was prophesied to kill Kronos—some see it as a failure, as me shirking my duty if I don't. If I defected to the enemy and came back, all of you… you wouldn't trust me—oh, don't give me that look, Nico, you know it's true. But you, Luke… it a way, they never stopped seeing you as their leader. You could do every atrocious act in the world and they would still welcome you back with opened arms."

"Percy, you're deluding yourself," Thalia said, scowling darkly. Percy raised an eyebrow.

"I can smell _their_ fear, even from here. It would be a constant battle of trying to prove my worth to them, and it's just… I have to leave, Thalia. Because even after all I've done…"

_I'm still a replacement._

Thalia made to protest, but Nico restrained her. Whenever Percy got that glint in his eye, it was useless trying to talk him out of an idea, and now, he seemed fixated on damaging his self worth.

"Just… try not to get yourself killed and at least come visit us sometime," he said firmly, glaring at Percy, daring him to say no.

"I will," Percy said with a thin, close lipped smile. Fixing his heavy gaze on Luke, he pierced him with a venomous, yet sad look. "Keep them alive. You can do that much, at least. And if you do anything to them…"

He left the threat hanging, but its meaning was clear in the air. Luke swallowed thickly and nodded.

"I swear on the Styx."

"The Styx is dead, Luke," said Nico, scowling and playing with the cuff of his sleeve. "It's gone with the Underworld—at least, it's under Kronos' control now. It does no good to swear on it."

Luke sighed in defeat. "Then, on whatever honor or dignity I have left, I swear that I'll protect them with my life."

"You can't do this to yourself," Thalia snapped, blinking furiously.

Percy smiled at her, coming closer to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug.

"I'll miss you," he said thickly. "All of you. But I can't endanger everyone like this. Annabeth... she always said that we'd either be best friends or worst enemies. I'd like to think that we're the former."

Thalia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, slapping Percy's shoulder for making her cry.

"Well, I don't know about that…"

Percy just smiled and shook his head, moving to Nico.

"Take care of yourself. When we get Kronos, we'll all go out for blue birthday cake. I remember you liked it."

"It's my birthday, can't I pick the color?"

A ghost of the old Percy shadowed over his face, and for a moment, they could still see the lighthearted son of Poseidon within.

"No, emo child. You'll probably get it all black with little bats and coffins all over it, and where's the fun in that? Maybe you'll even get the faces of the damned done up in icing, like your father's underwear."

Thalia snickered behind her hand. Nico looked mortified.

Sighing, he ruffled Nico's hair with one hand, ignoring the son of Hades' muffled protests, and patted his back.

"Stay safe, all of you."

Thalia gave him her best glare, the one she learned from Zeus.

"I expect to hear from you every week."

He was already in the shadows and had paused when she spoke, but despite the darkness, she thought she could see him give a curt nod.

It was the last time they would see him for a long, long time.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>Almost one year had passed.<p>

It was hard going, and it was a constant struggle to see the next sunrise. Their numbers had dwindled, and it was a strain to remain inconspicuous while being able to get enough food. The children of Demeter were invaluable.

Occasionally, new demigods would arrive, disoriented and completely confused. They were a blessing, and a fragile reminder of the childhood they never had.

Some were young, eight or nine and still innocent. They would babble about a guardian angel that swept them away from "the big bad monsters" and saved the day. The older, more coherent ones told of a boy with black hair and green eyes that fought off the attackers and took them here, where he promised they would be safe.

But he never stayed.

Indeed, they were welcomed, and any news of the mortal world was gladly accepted.

The nations had gone to war against Kronos. All of the countries, even ones with bad blood against each other, had taken up arms to fight a common enemy.

But Kronos had taken Olympus, and the other eleven seats were filled by his fellow Titans, like it had been before the gods had taken control. The mortals, by now, had long forgotten who Kronos was and had become complacent in the Fifth Age of the gods.

Many were easily defeated.

The rest were still fighting, but it had been hopeless from the start. It was only a matter of time. Kronos did seem to be trying to negotiate with the mortals and goad them onto his side, because if he killed them all, he wouldn't have anyone to rule over.

The mortals, in answer, pulled out nuclear weapons. Atomic bombs, machine guns, everything was used and worse weapons were coming out every day. Civilians were constantly caught in the crossfire, but there wasn't anything anyone could do. Peace was just an illusion of war, one that had recently been shattered.

Even from Bunker 9, they could feel the rumbles of the earth tearing itself apart.

They had taken refuge in the hidden bunker after one of the demigods brought to them by Percy was a son of Hephaestus—a fire user. He was able to activate the door, and the Hephaestus cabin had built a device that allowed them to transfer the bunker to preprogrammed places in case their location was compromised.

Percy himself hadn't been sighted in three weeks. No more demigods had arrived since then, and it was becoming doubtful that there would.

On the fifth day of the first month, Nico woke up to see Percy casually strolling out of the bathroom, tying a white gauze bandage over his right arm with his left hand and teeth. It was rapidly becoming stained through, but he didn't seem to care.

The son of Hades just stared at him incredulously for a few minutes, before finding his voice and asking, slightly faint, "What happened?"

Percy's eyes shot up to meet his, slightly surprised.

"Oh, hey Nico. What's up?"

He had been struck speechless from the casual answer, staring at him in utter bemusement.

"The sky," he replied sarcastically, before becoming serious. "No, really, what did you _do_ to yourself?"

Percy's innocent expression put Nico immediately on edge. "Why do you automatically assume it was something I did?" When Nico glared back at him, he sighed and finally said, "But if you must know, it was Kronos. He came after me with his scythe. I guess silver isn't the only thing I'm susceptible to."

Nico hissed in a breath through his teeth.

"The prophecy?"

Percy gave a short, barking laugh. "I don't even know if it's still _valid_. The gods are gone, after all. I doubt the Oracle could've seen _that_ ahead of time. Kind of complicates matters. No choice of any kind will be able to defeat Kronos, not unless you can turn back time."

"Without Kronos, their hierarchy will fall," Nico said cryptically.

"The only thing we're doing now is stalling. This isn't some kind of miracle situation, Nico, and demigods are dying every day while more monsters are spawned from the Pit. It doesn't end. The gods are gone. Sooner or later, humanity will fall with it."

He was gone before Nico could answer.

-o-

The second time they saw Percy again, it was Thalia who had spotted him. He looked worse for the wear, but still greeted them with a half-hearted smile and a wave, acting as though being covered in blood and ichor was a perfectly normal thing. For all they knew, maybe it was.

Yanking Riptide out of an enemy body with a sick squelch, he finished off the last of the invaders with an effortless grace, almost as if it was as easy as breathing. Efficiency and brutality came hand in hand with his new style of fighting; not an easy combination to accomplish.

Eventually, when they were the only ones still breathing on the frozen battlefield, Percy walked up to them, boots sloshing through the rivers of blood flowing downhill, seeping through the pores of the earth.

"Hey. How's war been treating you?"

There was genuine concern in his eyes, and while they were darker and more haunted towards the things he had seen and done, they were much more _alive,_ in the way that a fire ravaging an entire town to ashes was alive. He seemed to have come to terms with what he was now and did not hesitate to reap the benefits. Even now, with Riptide casually slung over one shoulder and standing in a relaxed position, Thalia knew that at the slightest provocation, he would strike.

"You're horrible at small talk," she said bluntly. His lips twitched upwards.

"And you're still horrible at sparing my feelings," he retorted, as blithe as ever.

"It's the truth," Thalia smirked back.

Percy's smile slipped off his face.

"Yeah, well, the rest of us aren't holding up so well," he admitted with a dark scowl. "I hope the camp is doing good, because there aren't any more demigods left in the world—none that I can reach, anyways."

"The Romans are still refusing to cooperate. Last I heard, they were still somewhere in San Francisco," Nico muttered.

Percy grimaced. "Still stubborn as ever, I see."

Luke came up from behind them, though Percy didn't seem surprised. He probably heard him coming miles away. Giving him a curt nod, he turned his gaze back to Nico, making him feel as though he was being passed through an x-ray scanner.

"Anything short of complete annihilation won't get the Romans to join us."

"It's coming to that," said Percy shortly. "Another month, at best; the mortals have come up with a new weapon that's able to do some damage to the Titans. It's a magnetically powered gun—two same magnetic poles press down on an opposite poled bullet. When it's released, it can tear through armor."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "That's impressive."

They were beginning to head back towards Bunker 9, the invisibility cloaking dropping away as they approached, before fizzling back into place behind them. "It's almost completely deserted out there. There aren't many people left."

The younger demigods crowded around Percy's legs, reaching as high as they could. Smiling softly, he knelt down, allowing them to clamber around him. They didn't seem to mind his blood-stained state.

"Percy's back!" they cheered.

"We still have one hope left," Luke said adamantly, acting as the devil's advocate.

Percy's eyes flicked up to him, wincing patiently as a seven-year old's foot hit him in the face. "And that is?"

"The Prophecy. Percy, it's got to be you. You're already sixteen—"

"Not for much longer," Percy interrupted. "Olympus has already fallen, Luke. The Prophecy is void—and besides, I'm turning seventeen in less than a week."

"Then we're in luck." Luke pulled out a map, unfurling it and smoothing out the wrinkles with his palms. "Kronos has been sighted not too far from here. We think he's coming after the remaining demigods now."

Percy's posture stiffened and an icy wind chilled their bones. His eyes were flat. One of the children —a daughter of Apollo, judging by her bright eyes and sun-spun hair— whimpered slightly, and when Percy's eyes turned on her, they softened slightly.

"Sophie, why don't you take the others to go play for a while? I'm sure the others will enjoy your company."

The girl smiled, showing the place where a tooth was missing.

"Okay, Percy," she chirped, grabbing the hands of one of her friends. "Come on, clumsy. Let's go. They're gonna talk adult stuff. It's boring."

She led the rest away, skipping and singing snatches of old lauds. Percy was suddenly reminded of the Pied Piper, playing his flute and leading the children away from the city to their deaths.

Revenge was sweeter than any other flavor.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off of his clothing. It left smears of drying blood against his hands, standing out brilliantly on his pale skin.

"And you think I'll be able to deal with Kronos?" It was impossible to read his tone. Thalia nodded slowly, hesitating.

"It's our last chance, Percy. Like you said, the mortals are only a distraction for the Titans. Kronos is going to come after us soon, and we won't survive an encounter."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Did you really _think_ we stood a chance? Then, you are more of a fool than I thought."

Thalia reeled back as if struck, her eyes wide. "You don't know what you're saying, Percy! Surely, you don't mean that? You're destroying yourself. No one wants… Annabeth wouldn't have wanted…"

Percy gave her a long, steely look, the warmth drained from his expression. Thalia's voice faltered and trailed off.

"Annabeth's gone, Thalia," he answered roughly, jerking her hand off his shoulder with a rough snap. "She's not coming back. None of the dead are."

"But _we_ aren't," she insisted, almost desperately. "We still live, and as long as we do, there will be hope."

"Hope for what?" he asked mockingly, spinning Riptide's pen around his fingers in an impressive show of dexterity. "A better day? There are no more days. Open your eyes. Werewolves are roaming the streets, and if I hadn't been bitten already, I would've been dead thrice over."

"You owe it to the gods to at least _try_."

Dark green eyes fixed on Luke with a sneer. "Oh, that's rich, coming from _you_. Who are you to preach to me about duty? As I recall, I've sacrificed everything for them, and only shrouds to burn in return. Mom, Paul…"

"Look, I don't like this any more than you do," Luke said heavily, dragging a calloused hand over his eyes. "But this isn't a war we can afford to lose. At least try, alright? You've faced Kronos countless times, far more than anyone else here has. The Prophecy is the only thing we can hope will work, even if the circumstances have changed. If you don't act soon, then it'll be Nico, and we can't afford to stall any longer."

There was a heavy, pregnant silence.

"I really didn't want to say this, but I know Annabeth would've wanted you to do it. So would Chiron and Grover."

Percy flinched as though Luke had slapped him across the face. Before Luke could blink, Percy's arm was lashed around his neck, cutting off his breath. The tip of Riptide was cold underneath his chin, tickling uncomfortably.

Thalia shouted in alarm, and she and Nico tried to pry them apart.

"You shouldn't have mentioned them," he hissed in Luke's ear, sickly sweet.

He finally allowed them to drag them apart when Luke began to turn blue from lack of oxygen. Luke reeled backwards, clutching his throat and breathing heavily, his chest rising with every rapid rise and fall.

"What… the Hades was that for…!"

"You've grown soft, Luke," said Percy roughly, flipping the cap over Riptide. He didn't put it into his pocket. In war, an unarmed soldier was a dead soldier, and it was a bad way to die.

Luke flinched.

_"—my Lord, please, spare the girl—"_

"I'll go," he continued. "but I'm telling you that it will do no good. I… just have a feeling about this."

"Then tell me, does the end really justify the means?" said Nico, his arms crossed, dark eyes unreadable.

Percy paused, his hand still on the door's handle.

"No," he said softly. "It really doesn't."

Then, with a twist of the handle, he was swallowed by darkness and lost to sight.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>Bee-ep.<em>

It had gone straight to hell. Percy couldn't quite put his finger on an exact moment when things had began to go wrong.

He supposed it could be traced back to his birth—no, actually, seventy years before he was even born.

But it didn't matter now. It was ending; his journey, his struggles, it was nothing more than a whisper in the foggiest space of his memories.

_…beep. Beep…_

It was raining hard; he could feel the icy pellets splashing against the curve of his nose, trailing thickly down one side of his face, pooling by his head. He was on his back, legs having collapsed and arms numb from trying to hold himself up. If he tilted his head up, he could see the clouds overhead, forming a thick blanket of blackened storm clouds.

He couldn't breathe. There was a wound the shape of Kronos' fist on his chest, punching through the useless armor, and no matter how much he wheezed, it was useless, he couldn't draw breath.

The water swirled around him, pink and mist-like, trickling away, dripping through his chest.

_Beep. Bee-ep._

His eyes fluttered; his surroundings blurred around the edges, mixing with the rain. The soft patters of rain splashing harmlessly against the ground was drowned out by the weak throbs of his heart, pumping out his blood in thin rivulets.

The stars twinkled down at him, larger and closer than they'd ever been, shining with an ethereal brilliance. Were they bidding him farewell?

But it didn't hurt, not any longer. Everything was numb, and he felt oddly detached. It was continually becoming hard to breathe; why he persisted, he wasn't sure. Maybe he should just stop…

_(it's not like they'll miss him)_

_Beep._

Footsteps disrupted the flow of water. Hasty. Slipping. The sounds were distant, almost like he was trying to listen to a conversation with his head submerged underneath the surface.

Their voices thrashed against him. He couldn't summon the energy to flinch. He's tired—gods, he was so _tired_, he'd rather just die…

Trembling fingers prodded his neck, searching for his jugular vein, trying to find a pulse. They were cold, and wet, and were shaking badly.

His eyes flickered open, dazed and blank. There were figures —dark shadows— silhouetted against the backdrop of sky. Their hair was plastered to their heads, and he couldn't tell if they were crying or if it was just the rain.

_(foolish delusions)_

_Beep. Beep._

Everything was just a blur, a blob on the devastation of life.

His mouth twisting in a cynical expression, he whispered out, in a cracked voice, "The stars are bright tonight, Thalia…"

His mouth tasted of the rust that trickled through his lips, down his face until it dissipated in the swirling waters. Still, he tried to speak, to tell them what he'd finally understood about humanity and Death. It was useless to fight against it, and in the final seconds of his life, the truths that had so long evaded him became clear.

"Gods, no. Percy…" Someone had fallen to his knees, carefully slipping his arms underneath his back and knees, trying not to aggravate the gaping wound.

Blonde hair.

The movement tore at his insides; he couldn't hold back the rasping coughs that only made the blood flow faster, staining everything before it was washed away. Water splashed against his cheek. "I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen. Percy. Stay with me, don't go to sleep, come on, look at me…"

"…are you happy now?" he rasped back, pale eyes fixing vaguely on the shaking figure. He got the impression that they were running, because every jolt hurt and there were leaves hitting him in the face, the wind chilling him to the bone. "This is… your fault… isn't it…?"

Then there was a change of scene. The beeping became shrill and loud. He must have blacked out at some point.

They weren't running anymore. There were people everywhere, some horrified, others shielding the younger ones from the sights—as if there would be any innocence left in them after such a war.

He heard one scream his name.

_Beep._

"—the prophecy, what are we supposed to do—"

_…beeeeep._

He choked on a cough.

A voice was babbling something to him. Or maybe it was to the people now surrounding him, some trying staunch the bleeding by wrapping bandages around his chest—as if it was just a paper cut or a bruise. Someone was holding his hand, squeezing the circulation out of his arm. He could feel them shaking, hysterical, bitter.

"…_godsdamnit_, get the nectar! Heart rate's going down, someone staunch the bleeding!"

_Beep. Beee….eeep._

The world spinning around him in tumultuous circles. With a soft, slow sigh, he let his exhaustion drain away, finally at peace. His hand unclenched around Thalia's, who panicked and had grasped his shoulders tightly, shaking him back and forth, screaming his name.

They were shouting, but it was so distant, like he was drowning and there was someone trying to throw him a lifeline that was too far away…

"…stay with me, Percy, _damn it_, keep breathing, don't you dare give up on me… _no, someone get more ambrosia, we're losing him…! We'r-"_

_Beeeeeeeee—_

* * *

><p><em>(the last thing he saw was the Moon)<em>


	2. And The Dead Will Rise

**Author's Note—** I've tried out a more simplistic writing style of writing in the first half of the chapter. I'm not quite secure with it, so tell me what you think. I'm also messing with the Ancient Greek timeline to suit this story. It's nothing major, I assure you.

To those of you waiting for Blackened Dawn, it's coming soon—as long as my cousin doesn't delete my chapter again. Sometimes, I really cannot fathom how we are related.

* * *

><p><strong>Review replies — MushyTheMush <strong>- thank you! I'm glad you liked it :) **Guest** - fear not, here it is. **Guest** - thank you! **Blackwolfspirit1** - thanks :) **SpartanWarrior117** - hi! How's your story coming along? I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope this will be alright as well! **Xuan Tian Shang Di** - oh come on, I hated my writing for the first half of my life and I still do sometimes. It's getting better, I'd like to think. Why don't you try? ;) **Intellectually** - thank you :) first off, sorry about the long wait for Blackened Dawn. I'll try to get the chapter out soon. For this story, I was thinking of slowly building on Percy's power, and let some of the characters assume things about him before it is revealed. Lycaon will eventually be a bigger antagonist in the story, and Hestia's blessing adds a bit of depth to Percy's character later on. I am quite fond of Thalia as well, but I'm still not quite sure if there will be a pairing yet. At this point in time, I'll keep options open, just in case! **Guest** - *smiles mirthfully* **Clefspear** - I agree with you there! It's rather disconcerting to wait ages for a chapter, and find some with 1 k words. Aegis is still in the woris, don't worry! Most of it is saved elsewhere, and I have yet to be able to access it. **authorwannabe101** - I'm glad you liked it! Hope this chapter does not disappoint. **Twigon Halolover** - thank you :)

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>"Only the dead have seen the end of war."<p>

_(Plato)_

**Chapter I**

_**and the dead will rise**_

Today was the day that the first bombs dropped.

The earth itself bled, thin veins of red drying over the cracked surface, seeping in to taint the soil an angry, soupy color. Broken weapons littered the ground; driftwood after the sea's rage had diminished.

Sounds of swords clashing. Swords breaking.

Blue-black clouds streaked across crimson.

Laughter turned to screams.

Souls fled.

It's funny, almost ironically so. None of the so-called experts truly predicted how the apocalypse was to come.

The world did not end in fire and brimstone. No snake swallowed the earth. No calendar foretold the humans of how everything they had taken as "normal" was so quickly snatched away.

When all else failed, when books could no longer produce a satisfactory answer, only war remained to comfort mankind.

They prayed. But who was there to answer?

The skies wept blood for eleven days and eleven nights. And when the heavens cleared once more, there was no sun and no moon. Only desolation remained.

The Sixth Age had lasted for only six years.

_(for there was nothing left but ashes)_

• • •

When he opened his eyes, it was to Ragnarok. It took a while for his vision to focus, but when it did, he sorely wished it hadn't.

The end of the world tasted of rotting corpses and bitter resentment. The earth was cracked and slaked together at places, stacked amongst slabs of raw concrete and stone. He could see a hand lying limply between two of them, a steady trickle of blood wetting the wrist, staining the stones black.

He prodded a dead body with his foot. It was a young child's, just barely past the toddler stage, too early and too young to die like this. But death had no such qualms. The body was marred beyond recognition. The fingers were fused together, and the mouth forever open in a soundless scream.

A melted glass doll lay on the ground beside her, still smiling. A cheap, painted on smile, but the only smiles that could last were the fake ones.

Not too far away, he caught sight of a strip of plaid, peeking at him through the charred remains. The only remains of a boy's trousers, lovingly sewn by hand by long dead parents, who were buried somewhere amidst the rubble. Or maybe they'd been one of the many that had been incinerated in the initial blast.

He averted his gaze.

What did it matter? They were dead anyways.

He walked through what was once a field. No more grass will grow. It would be many, many years before nature finally reclaimed its own, and even then, maybe never.

Maybe the grass would grow back red.

The wind howled over a graveyard. In the heat waves, still smoldering with distortion, he heard the echoes. He saw the images, flickering on and off like there was a bad connection between him and the dead.

Earlier, children had been playing there, in the deathtrap, hands linked, forming an oil-slickened circle. Laughter bubbled from their lips—a rare delicacy, and their last.

_(ring around a rosy_)

It was their own funeral dirge. They died in a field of flowers and screams. How sadistically ironic.

The gods would have loved it.

(_pockets full of posies_)

Did it hurt, in the end? Was it quick, or was it slow and drawn out, because the Fates loved it when people suffered?

(_ashes, ashes_)

To see the world in endless sleep… in a twisted way, it was the final truth.

The oracles must be laughing.

_(we all fall down_)

• • •

"Gruesome, isn't it?"

Electric blue eyes opened. Piercing, even in death. They met green ones. Cold ones, full of fire that did not warm his heart.

There was no escaping the truth, and the words came, unbidden, to his mouth.

"It is."

She smiled thinly at him. It was a mocking smile. Bitter, and full of hate, but it was not for the green eyed one. For _him_, there was only resignation.

"This is what happens when you deny a prophecy, Percy. We die. All of us."

Eyes narrowed. The barest embers of anger rose, stoked by her words.

"It was never mine to begin with."

She conceded the point with a slight dip of her head. "It was over before it began. Everything came too late for salvation." She looked at him, fully expecting his astonishment or outrage, emotions that did not come.

But why should he care? Too little, too late.

The eerie light of the Styx —overflowing its banks— cast dim shadows over his face, pulling it into sharp angles.

"Perhaps it is for the best. Now, leave me alone."

He made to brush her aside. She blocked him with one corporeal hand, shoving him back into place. The effort made her shimmer, and for a moment, disappear.

"Let me pass." An undercurrent of warning edged his words. "My time is over, Thalia. It is not up to you to decide. Look where playing God left us."

"It left us Hope," she insisted stubbornly, her image faintly flickering.

"It left us _dead_, Thalia. Get it through your head. Nothing will change that."

The words were cutting and sharp. There was no sugar coating to ease the impact, and the full weight of his admission drew her aback.

"Surely, you don't mean—"

"I'm dead. So are you. So are all of us. Being here… It's given me time to think. All along, us thinking that we were living… it was a pretty lie crafted for us by the gods. We lived only on borrowed time.

"I cannot cross the Styx. The Curse is gone, but I cannot journey into the Underworld. I'm dead, yet I'm not. A wonderful mix, isn't it?"

A third figure, dressed in black, floated from the wailing mass of souls. There was recognition in his eyes.

"Because it's not your time. You are the last of us. You are to be our salvation."

"Nico."

"Percy," he nodded back in greeting.

"Did you know this would happen?"

A slight shrug.

"I guessed."

"And you forgot to mention it."

There was no accusation in his voice. He understood, however much he wished he didn't. They had been in a time of war, and everyone kept secrets from the other.

"I might've," he admitted, apologetic.

"When will I pass?"

He wanted to rest. To close his eyes and never wake up. Was this to be denied of him, too? This final right most took for granted?

"Not for a long time yet."

Apparently, it was.

He shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't. He'd been expecting this answer, after all.

"What exactly do the Fates think I can accomplish?" he bit out scathingly. "The world is over. The mortals are dead, and soon, the Titans will follow. There is nothing left to _be_ done."

A ripple of shadow; blonde hair.

"But this was never meant to happen. The world wasn't supposed to end."

A wolf-like growl.

"Because the gods died, Luke? Is that it? They would be so selfish as to doom the entire world, just because they didn't want to die? Well, you know what? I didn't want to die. Not much, anyways. None of us did. _They_ aren't so special here, among the dead."

"Yes!" Luke snapped back, his scar rippling white in the illumination cast by the Styx. "Yes, the gods are selfish! They aren't the ideal rulers, and maybe the Titans would've be better. Maybe all of this would have been different if we made another choice. Maybe it would have. I don't know. And I have no way of knowing."

He eyed them warily.

"Then what is this all about? Why the sudden interest? It's been _three years_, guys, three years since I died and two since you followed. Not _once_ have you come to visit me and my eternal prison, so don't spin some sort of tale about how much you've missed my company. It's obvious you haven't."

For a few moments, there was silence. It was only interrupted by the screams of the damned. Finally:

"Are you so egotistical to think that the war ended when you did?"

He frowned, but was not given a chance to speak, because the blonde swordsman plowed on, his rageful-passionate speech fuelled by his own frustration and helplessness.

"You know what happened? The Camp lost hope. They saw life snuff you out, and to many of them, you were the epitome of invincible."

An incredulous, startled laugh burst from his lips.

"Invincible? What a joke. I'm not the gods' martyr anymore, Luke, and you can't make me be one. They expected me to be a hero. I'm not. They wanted someone to save them from something they should've done themselves. And, sorry," he added sarcastically, "you didn't get the hero. The mail order ran out. Everyone wanted one, and there wasn't enough to go around. You got me instead. Hope you weren't too disappointed."

"Percy, as long as you were alive, Hope _always_ burned brighter. Do you know what it was like to carry your dead body out of there and try to tell the younger campers that you weren't coming back? Do you know how they cried? How they _begged_?"

By the end, her voice had become choked, and she had to take a minute to compose herself. His eyes softened, and he reached out. She buried her face into her hands and cried.

"Thals…"

He rubbed his hand over her back awkwardly, but it only went through the apparition. He couldn't touch them, and it brought an echo of distance to his heart.

Even though they were so close, they were so far away.

"The mortals fell first, didn't they?"

He gazed upon the millions of souls crowded around the archway, calling out in fright but was never to be answered. They didn't see the Underworld as it was. Maybe it was better that way.

"Yeah. Really, it was only a matter of time. Kronos began to hunt for us— we were all that was left. We held out better than the mortals, but… some of the younger ones got careless and led the Titans right to our doorstep. We took out a good chunk of their forces, but they just kept coming… and now it's over. We lost."

"Lost…" he echoed dryly, green eyes flickering, reflecting the three milky white spirits in front of him. "It's over, then."

They didn't reply, only shifted guiltily.

Eyes narrowed.

_"Isn't it?"_

"Not quite," Nico finally said. "The Fates… they don't know we're here. They wouldn't agree with our meddling. We're supposed to have passed already."

"Then what _are_ you doing here?" he finally snapped, patience wearing thin. "What more do you want of me? I'm not a miracle worker; I can't make this all better."

Nico huffed softly, eyes glowing obsidian.

"Lucky for us, you don't have a choice."

_"What…!"_

"Luke, restrain him!"

He struggled in Luke's sudden grip, which was hard and unyielding.

"It was my fault you died the first time," he muttered into Percy's ear, wrenching his hands behind his back. "I'm not about to do it again."

Thalia smiled faintly at him, one last time. She joined hands with Nico, and laid her other hand on Percy's shoulder.

"Save the world for us, alright? Make sure this doesn't happen again. I don't want to know what it feels like to have my soul consumed for a second time."

"Wait, don't do this, you'll have to—!"

"Good luck, Perce," Nico whispered softly, his hand glowing a furious, soupy crimson. The color of blood. "Remember us always. We'll be there with you, in your heart."

His hand hovered over his eyes, and touched Percy's forehead.

Sudden, seizing pain slipped through him like lightning, fast and furious and unrelenting. He might've screamed. He could hear only the rush of blood in his ears.

"—too much, there's too much…!"

"This wasn't supposed to happen! Godsdamnit, Luke, you said that Annabeth calculated this!"

"—she did! He's going too far—"

"—hope for the best—"

A pause. Their voices became faint.

"…goodbye, Percy. Godspeed."

Behind them, he heard the sudden screeches of the Fates. Clawed talon-like hands grappled for his arm, tearing at his clothes.

"No!" they shouted. Wailed. "You'll doom us all!"

Their nails scritch-scratched.

Scissors snipped.

Boiling pain; a soundless roar.

He jerked blindly away, the motion causing white hot stars in to tremble in and out of his vision. His hand closed around something soft and fuzzy, and it burned in his his grip, searing into flesh.

Then there was the distant pop of displaced air, and the last thing Percy heard was the roar of the wind, thousands of feet below.

* * *

><p><em>"You aren't supposed to exist. <em>

_Who are you exactly, __Perseus Jackson?"_

* * *

><p>When he woke, it was to a horse chewing on his hair.<p>

Of all the ways to wake up, it certainly counted as the strangest.

"'Gerrof," he moaned, trying in vain to push the blasted creature away, but the thing wouldn't leave him _or_ his hair alone. "Leave me be. Go away."

_"Master speaks!"_ the horse said in awe, stumbling over its too-large hooves. It was a tiny, shrill sound that reminded Percy of a young boy that hadn't yet hit puberty.

"Yes, yes, I speak. Now heed the words of this wise master, and for gods' sake, _leave me alone!"_

The last part came out as a roar, which was cut off with a gurgle as he spat out blood, filling his mouth with the taste of rust.

The horse whimpered like a kicked puppy. Its tail curled shamefully under its hind legs, and its ears flattened against its skull. But its shame soon turned to alarm when Percy continued to hack his lungs out.

_"Is Master not feeling well? Please, Master, don't leave me! I don't want to be alone again! Master? Master!"_

Percy was on one knee, the other having folded underneath him. His left hand clutched his throat, his right supporting him to keep his balance.

"Shut… _up_…" he rasped in between coughs, seizing lungfuls of air. Immediately, the horse's demeanour changed into one of ecstasy.

_"Master speaks! Master is okay! I like Master. Master is strong!"_

Gods, he could practically hear the exclamation marks punctuating each sentence. It was beginning to give him a headache.

Dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, he grimaced as it came away streaked with red. He pushed himself up, joints cracking from exertion.

It was odd having a corporeal body. He almost fell over. Being stranded by the Styx, he'd never truly been a spirit, but he hadn't exactly had a form, either, and suddenly being thrown into his old body was disorienting, to say the least.

Then, he became aware of something clammy and wet nudging at his shoe. He looked down to see a tiny snake's head trying to sink its little needle-like fangs into his toes, and promptly crushed it underfoot with a slurping squish.

"…what the Hades."

He followed the now-headless wriggling little thing and came across an even uglier sight: more wriggling little snake things. They were attached to a lump the approximate size and shape of a basketball, and—wait.

He flipped the head over, keeping his gaze lowered in case this was what he thought it was. Sure enough, he'd seen that ugly face too many times than he'd like.

Scowling lips, really ugly features, snake hair… yep. That was Medusa, most definitely. Most unfortunately. Then again, with his luck, what exactly had he been expecting? Surely, it would be nothing good.

Beside him, the black foal cowered at the sight of the head, hiding its face comically between its two front legs, whimpering in pathetic fright.

_"Mommy bad!"_ it wailed_. "Bad Mommy! Master, save me!"_

"She's dead," Percy said bluntly, one eye on the little horse and the other on Medusa's head. He drew his finger out of reach as one of the snakes tried to bite him.

One large eye peeked out from a knobbly leg.

_"Master killed bad Mommy?"_ it inquired.

Percy shot a look at the adamantium sword that was embedded in Medusa's chest, still oozing green blood. Oddly enough, he didn't remember how it got there.

Sketching his gaze to the pile of loot huddled in the corner, Percy could make out countless swords, shields, precious gems and metals alike. Medusa must have been very arrogant —or very stupid— to sleep in plain sight of such weapons.

He picked up the sword. It wasn't Riptide, and the balance was wrong. He felt a surge of nostalgia for his old sword.

Riptide had been lost, long, long ago, back when he was still comparatively young and naiive. He'd been trying a trying out a tricky and utterly useless manoeuvre, and one badly parried blow later, his faithful bronze sword shattered.

"Er, yeah. I guess I did."

Percy had to dodge a furry black ball of grateful horse.

"_Thankyouthankyouthankyou_," it babbled.

Percy ignored its tinny voice and continued to pull the adamantium sword out, the sick squelch of flesh sucking the shining edges down.

The body exploded into yellow dust.

He stuffed the head into a burlap bag that he'd found while foraging around the Gorgons' cave. Perhaps it'd be useful. He wasn't going to be receiving any help, and he sure as Hades wasn't going to go down so easily.

Nico, Thalia, and Luke had sacrificed their eternal souls to send him back. Percy wasn't sure what they'd meant by 'we'll always be with you,' but there seemed to be some meaning beyond sentimentality, or at least he hoped. He was truly alone now, in this world.

Then he remembered the Fates, and the cynical humor drained from his face.

They'd tried to stop him from leaving by _any means necessary_. On hindsight, he remembered the flash of scissors, shining ominously against dull, frayed yarn.

Then why wasn't he dead? He wasn't sure. Looking down at the traveller's cloak he'd somehow been supplied with, he patted the pockets until he came across a suspicious lump. Unfastening the clasp, he reached in and pulled out…

A ball of blue-green string.

The end was frayed and was barely holding together. One side was fuzzy with broken strands, and the other showed the clear impression of straight cut strings—no doubt by scissors.

He touched his throat and remembered the pain.

One little tug… that was all it would take.

If that string broke, he'd be dead, and _then_ where would he be? In the Underworld? He shouldn't even exist. He might cause a paradox and they'd all end up dying after all.

But where could he hide it? There really was no safe place on earth. A single pull… no. He wouldn't risk it. Not when so much was at stake.

Hades, maybe the horse would eat it. Knowing his luck, the thing probably would.

Sighing, he pocketed the yarn carefully. This would take some getting used to. He'd have to be careful until he could find a safe place to keep it.

Rummaging through his other pockets, Percy became aware of a dog-eared piece of paper. He smiled with bitter nostalgia when it appeared to be an old photograph. The one he'd always carried into battle with him. A little spatter of blood, long dried, marred the bottom half, but Percy didn't mind. They'd all been touched by death, anyways, and it was a fitting testament.

"Annabeth…" he whispered, holding the picture close, as if he could still feel her embrace through the age-old paper.

Percy was in the centre, a huge grin splitting his face open. One of his arms was slung around Thalia's neck, while the other was pulling a reluctant and scowling Nico in the picture. Annabeth had her arms around his neck and was piggy-back riding him, laughing. He could make out Chiron accidentally photo-bombing their picture, and the poor centaur looked rather confused.

In the background, faded with age even though he could visualize it perfectly, there was destruction. The picture had been taken a split second before the Camp was first attacked and the borders fell to the monsters.

He shoved it away, back into a pocket. It brought back both good and bad memories.

Wiping his palms flat against the odd trousers he'd been equipped with, he stole one last glance at Medusa's head.

Still ugly as ever. Some things never changed.

Odd, though, because while Percy expected to have landed in the Garden Gnome Emporium, or maybe even when he'd first been born, he didn't think that Medusa had had a change of scene back then. They were currently in a cave, and not like Calypso's or Rachel's. It was dim, musty, and Percy could imagine Dracula coming out at any moment, or maybe a couple hundred vampire bats. The place certainly reeked enough to prove that theory.

"Lovely decorating," Percy muttered under his breath, eyeing the exit cautiously.

The only light came from a small hole in one of the walls, all but hidden behind a large statue of a centaur—he hoped it wasn't Chiron. Thinking about his old instructor made his heart twinge in pain, so he pushed the thought out of his mind for the time being.

Straightening his knees, he used the sword as a crutch to push himself to a rough standing position.

"Well…" he murmured to himself, eyeing the light streaking from the hole in the ceiling. "Time to face the music, I guess."

And stepped into the sunlight.

• • •

_"Master! Master, wait for me, wait u–whooooooaaaaaa—!"_

Exasperated, Percy turned in time to see the little horse barrelling towards him, sliding on its haunches as it tried to slow down.

Silently lamenting his luck, he reached down and effortlessly plucked the foal up by the scruff of its neck. It made a comical sight, dangling by its neck with all four spindly little legs splayed upwards, kicking at the air.

"I'm not your master," Percy said impatiently, the horse's long muzzle not an inch from his face. "Go bug someone else."

"_Maaaster_," it whined, dragging out the word, petulant.

Percy dropped the horse and kept walking, staring straight ahead. It skittered to a halt, tumbling end over end before rolling to a stop, peeking out from behind its legs in clouds of dust.

"_Master_?" it chirped, sounding so heartbroken that even Percy sighed and turned around.

"What?"

His voice came out harsher than he'd intended, but the horse perked up immediately.

"_Master_!" The foal neighed happily, kicking up its little hooves in small puffs of dust. "_I'm coming too!"_

Gods, there was no reasoning with it. Percy resigned himself to his fate with a long, drawn out sigh. He ran a hand through his hair tiredly, making it stick up on end.

"What's your name, anyways? I can't just keep calling you horse."

The foal faltered, and its ears plastered against its skull.

_"I don't have a name. No one wants me," _it said in a small voice. As though it'd rather the earth open up and be gobbled whole. _"I have… I have…"_

It took a deep breath, trembling from its very bones. It leaned forward, as though confiding in Percy a deep secret that would decide the fate of the entire world. Unconsciously, he found himself leaning forward in anticipation.

_"I… have… wings…"_

Percy blinked. He didn't see any wings. Maybe the horse hid them, somehow, or used the Mist to manipulate his form?

"Uh. Okay. I can turn into a wolf. So?"

The horse gaped.

_"Master doesn't mind?"_

There was blatant awe in his voice. Percy shrugged his shoulders, still confused. Exactly what was going on?

… on that note, where _was_ he, anyways?

"What's the big deal? You have wings, right? So you're not a horse, you're a pegasus."

The horse's eyes glowed.

_"My name is Pegasus! Master named me! I like my name!"_

Percy raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Uh, if you say so. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He tried to sidle away. Of course, no such luck. The newly named Pegasus immediately followed.

_"So where're we going, Master? Is it someplace cool? Oh, I told them, Syltion most of all, that I way going to travel the world someday! He didn't think I could do it. And now I'm right! Ha!"_

They trotted underneath a large overhang of rock, which served as shade from the blistering sun. Pegasus could keep up surprisingly well with Percy's pace, his hooves clip-clopping gaily and his tail swishing like a happy puppy.

"So, how come you're not with the other—"

He was interrupted by a shrill whinny, echoing from across the hill, along with the sound of hoof-beats,

_"Hey, no name!"_

Immediately, Pegasus' ears flattened and he flinched backwards into Percy, as though the insult was a physical blow. Percy stumbled and his back hit the wall. His breath left in a sudden '_whoosh_.'

_"Syltion,"_ Pegasus muttered angrily, his eyes fixed on the ground. There was no humor in his tone, not like before. "_What do you want?"_

If possible, Percy would swear that the other horse —Syltion— swaggered up to them, chest puffed up with hot air.

_"Who's this loser freak with you? Another one of your strays?"_

Pegasus bared his teeth angrily.

_"Master is not a stray! Insult me if you wish, but Master is mine!" _he retorted indignantly. _"__Master is kind, and wonderful, and—"_

"I get it, thanks," Percy interrupted, slightly amused, and slightly creeped out by the puppy dog devotion.

Syltion's eyes turned to him in surprise. They were large, brown ones flecked with gold.

_"You speak!"_

"So I do," Percy said blithely. "Not a stray, anymore, I presume?"

The horse sneered.

_"Oh, no name over there is desperate for a master, and his standards keep getting lower. No one will buy him. His coat is dull, he has knobbly knees, too-large hooves, and is so clumsy that I doubt you'll ever be able to ride him. Who would want a freak like that?"_

Syltion bubbled with laughter at his own joke. Percy remained silent, his eyes narrowed. Pegasus wilted visibly with each insult. _"You'll do well to choose your company wisely, stranger,"_ Syltion warned, once he calmed enough to speak.

_"Like yours?" _Pegasus stomped his hooves. _"Is that what you mean, Syltion?"_

_"Be quiet, no name!"_ Syltion barked. Pegasus reared up, his usually meek demeanour fading.

_"My name is Pegasus! Master named me so! I—"_

_"Poseidon help me, no name, if you won't shut up right now, I swear your children will feel the marks I'll give you—that is, if you can ever get a mare to actually notice you in the first place!"_

Pegasus' mouth closed mid-snap.

Triumphantly, Syltion turned back to Percy, who couldn't help but feel as though he'd just watched the equestrian version of kindergarteners fighting over a shiny new toy.

_"So, what will it be, stranger?"_

Pegasus was resigned, his entire body drooped. Percy felt a stab of pity for the creature.

"I think I know how to think for myself, thanks. Hurry up, Pegasus. I want to be in a town by dusk."

Pegasus looked up, startled, at Percy with barely suppressed hope. His eyes shone, and he looked as though fervently wishing that this wasn't just a dream, and if it was one, to never wake up again.

_"Y-Yes, Master…!"_

_"You would dare to turn your back on me? I, Syltion?!"_

The last part came out as a roar.

"Someone has an overinflated ego," Percy muttered under his breath.

There was the sound of pounding hooves, slashing apart the grass underfoot. Pegasus shouted, an agonizing cry of alarm.

The instant Syltion's hoof touched Percy's back, several things happened at once.

First, there was the crackle of ozone, suddenly permeating the air.

Second, was the sizzle of electricity.

Third, Syltion screamed.

There was the smell of singed hair. Percy looked down to see flickers of hot white lightning erupting from his skin and melding seamlessly back into it. The tendrils were thin looking and absolutely pathetic, nothing like the kind Thalia could summon up.

He thought he could hear a feminine voice echo through the air, angrily hissing words he could not hear. It sounded a bit like Thalia—or maybe that was just wishful thinking. The prickling feeling returned, stronger than ever, so much that it began to burn underneath his skin.

Syltion was twitching on the ground spasmodically.

"Huh…" Percy said slowly, his eyebrows raised. Inside, he was shaking, but he wore a calm facade, more for his own sanity than for Pegasus.' "I didn't know I could do that."

_'But Thalia could,' _a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered. Percy pushed it away. It must have been a fluke accident. That was all.

"Come on. I want to find out where I am, and I'd really rather not be out here after dark."

• • •

They must have made a very rag-tag looking group; a tired looking colt that nodded his head sleepily as he walked; and the rider, who walked calmly beside the horse with a calm hunter's cadence to his step, the moon reflecting the most uncanny green eyes most had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

They fit the stereotype that mothers warned their children to stay away from.

Not that Percy cared.

It was easy for him to figure out which road to take. There were deep chariot rut marks cut sharply into the mud. The thin furrows were beginning to condense with dew, clear, crystalline droplets clinging to the mud before being sucked in.

Percy could see his reflection wavering in a thin puddle congealed by the base of an olive tree, outlined in a dull shade of grey, before his foot made contact with the surface and sent droplets scattering underneath.

They met very few people on their journey, and even then they were merchant caravans. When asked for directions, most just gave him a dark look and hurried off, throwing backwards glances over their shoulders when they thought Percy didn't notice.

Pegasus muttered something unflattering under his breath. Percy made a mental note to watch his language around the horse, before he'd have to wash out both of their mouths with saddle soap.

Dusk fell soon after. If there was little traffic before, it was practically deserted at night. Trees snaked their shadowed fingers across the road, cast by the pale silver light of the moon.

Percy eyed it warily. Two more weeks until it would be full. He restrained a shudder.

The others didn't know what it was like. He'd always made sure to be far, far away from any form of civilization before giving in to his instincts. In the morning he would wake up, confused and disoriented, feeling as though his bones had burst from his skin in a magnificent spray of gore.

Percy's eyes focused on the stars, and he frowned. The constellations… Annabeth (oh, how he _missed_ her) had taught him… they weren't in the correct positions. It was as though someone had reached out a hand and messed up the constellations.

Exactly what was going on? Nico had said, "_we're taking you back to where it all began."_

… what if that was farther than they expected?

A sickening feeling lodged in Percy's stomach.

"Pegasus?" he asked slowly. The pegasus' ears, which were drooping in exhaustion, perked up at the sound of his master's voice.

_"Yes, Master?"_

"… who won the Titan war?"

Pegasus' eyes brightened.

_"The gods did! Well, the Titans have been scattered far and wide, and it'll be eons before they can reform!"_

Percy stumbled to a halt, tripping over his own feet in shock. No… no, that wasn't right. That did not happen.

The gods… _won_?

Impossible. He'd seen the end of the world, felt it, tasted the ashes on his tongue, drank the bitter sweat and blood and turmoil of strife. He'd saw the apocalypse happen, all while he was trapped by the Styx to forever wander the borders of the Underworld.

Either he'd been thrown into another dimension altogether, or he'd travelled back in time. Neither seemed likely—but then again, this _was_ Percy they were talking about. Nothing about him was ever normal.

Whatever the reason, he was over his head, and sinking fast.

"Change of destination. We're going to see the Grey Sisters."

• • •

"Wasp, give me the eye!"

"I don't _have_ the blasted eye! Anger, give me the tooth!"

Three crawling old ladies, bony knuckled hands groping desperately for their precious eye.

"Stop."

A hand clamped down on Anger's wrist. She screeched and flailed around, but the grip around her arm only tightened, leaving purple bruises on liver-pocked skin.

"I have the eye, and I won't hesitate to destroy it."

Outraged shrieks.

"Give it to me!" one cried, crawling towards the sound of the voice, one hand reached pathetically out, groping empty air.

"No, me!" the other shoved aside her sister, hollow mouth open, rotting lips parted. A single molar gleamed yellow in the very back of her gums.

"Tell me where the Hesperides are, or I'll chop it up and give it to the pigs to eat!"

A snickering whinny. The clopping of hooves, quiet.

"Noooo!" all three graeae shrieked as one. "Give us the eye!"

"Tell me the _truth_!" Percy shouted back.

The eye was slimy in his grip, and he snapped it out of range when Anger's clawed hand made a grab for it. Fingernails grazed his skin, scoring thin, red furrows onto the back of his hand.

"We can't! We mustn't!" they moaned. Percy moved to the mouth of the cave.

"Tell me now, or I'll drop it into the fire," he threatened.

"No fire!" Wasp shrieked triumphantly. The Grey Sisters laughed spitefully at him, momentarily forgetting their distress. Percy gritted his teeth. "We don't have a fire!" they cackled, over and over.

Anger's hand, still caught firmly in his grip, burst into flame. The Sister screamed in fright, but more startled than in pain.

"Accursed one! Fallen! Free us, spare us, your unworthy servants! We will tell you, alas, spare us!"

Percy wrinkled his nose in confusion. Fallen? Was that some sort of cult? If so, it was a scary one for the Grey Sisters to change their minds so quickly. Not that he was complaining.

He extinguished the fire, feeling exhaustion set in immediately.

"I shall… er, spare your unworthy lives… if you tell me now!"

"The West, the West!" Wasp groaned out. "In the west, through the Gates, at Dusk—"

"Not good enough," Percy growled.

"We'll take you there!" Tempest finally wailed. "Spare us, Fallen! We have wronged you, mercy, have mercy!"

Percy looked to Pegasus.

"Think you will be able to fly me there? I don't trust them enough to go like they say."

Pegasus looked hesitant, but nodded slowly. He looked slightly fearful, as though Percy would scream and run for the woods the second he saw his wings.

"Excellent!" Percy said brightly, slightly scaring the others at his sudden mood swing. "We shall follow by air. Lead on, _Sisters_."

Anger reached for the eye, but Percy slapped her hand away.

"Oh no, not yet. You'll get your precious eye back when we are at the Garden. Otherwise…"

He let the threat hang in the air, but by their paling faces, he knew they understood. Pegasus spread his wings, glossy feathers catching the light. The Sisters cowered.

"Doomed steed! The downfall of the Fallen!"

Pegasus looked anxiously at Percy, and the demigod knew that if he made one wrong move now, it would be a heavy blow of Pegasus' trust, and he'd most likely run away, sobbing.

Percy smiled reassuringly at him and ran a hand through the black feathers. They were soft, lighter than silk and twice as durable.

"You remind me of Blackjack," he said, his voice grave and quiet. Blackjack, his faithful pegasus, had taken a blow meant for him and had died instantly, an arrow through the brain. It was painless, Percy knew, but that didnt make him feel any better.

Pegasus cocked his head inquisitively. Percy sucked in a harsh breath and shook his head.

"It's nothing," he muttered, and swung himself onto Pegasus' back. It was thin, and gaunter than Blackjack's had ever been, and the coat was nowhere near as glossy, but there was a certain balance to his muscles and bone structure that was almost impossible to achieve.

Pegasus tossed his head with a short whinny, and Percy leaned closer, whispering into the sensitive ear, "Follow the Grey Sisters to the Garden of the Hesperides."

_"Yes, Master."_

Raven-like wings unfurled, and beat—first once, then twice, until it was only a hum of displaced air that blew back the leaves and debris around them in a ten-yard radius.

Wind blew in his face, but it did not feel as hostile as it had in his time. Now, it felt almost… welcoming.

Below, the three Sisters were mere specks on brown-laced terrain. Trees dotted the area, but they were sparse and few in between, offering little to no shade. Medusa's head was dripping through the burlap bag, seeping through the bottom and beading up on one edge, green blood dripping into the vast valleys below.

The eye pulsed in his hand, as though trying to get back to its owners. He wasn't sure how they could see where they were going without the eye, but figured that if Tempest could drive without sight, they could walk around just fine.

The sun began to set from its zenith, streaking in a blaze of heavenly glory from the skies. Percy remembered, vaguely, that Apollo wasn't the sun god yet. It had been Helios, and it would be a while before he would take over for his predecessor.

Then, from amidst the glitterings of the sun, he could make out an arch of gold, unfolding from the edge of the horizon.

"Dive!" he told Pegasus, who tucked in his wings and plummeted like a rock. Wind rushed past his ears, and Percy felt a hysterical laugh escape from his mouth.

One meter before impact, Percy threw the eye at Wasp—or was it Anger? Whoever it was caught it and popped the eye immediately into her socket. It spun around several times before getting stuck, to which she pulled it out with a taloned hand and squelched it into her other socket.

She caught a sight of vivid green eyes, luminescent, burning with archaic fires, and shivered.

"I shall be going," he said, and wheeled his horse —who had wings!— to face the setting sun. Within a few seconds, they were nothing but specks of black in a backdrop of crimsons and golds.

"'S not going to be the last time we'll see him," Tempest muttered.

"He'll be great one day. I foresee it," Anger agreed.

Still, it was Wasp who snorted and muttered the truth, as they set back in the direction of their cave with their precious eye back in their possession. She was uncommonly grave.

"The greater they are, the harder they fall. If the Cursed One is really as great as you two idiots think he is, then he'd better be prepared.

"Not even the Fallen can escape Death."

• • •

On hindsight, Percy really should have known better. Of course there were other defences implemented by the Hesperides other than Ladon. Ladon wouldn't attack unless you came too close to his apples.

"Hang a left!" Percy shouted, just as Pegasus' wing clipped him in the shoulder, almost sending him free-falling. The wind barrier howled, intent on slicing them to ribbons.

_"I can't, Master!" _the pegasus sounded panicked._ "__I_—"

A sudden gust knocked Pegasus over, throwing Percy off. His scream of "_MASTER_!" went unheard against the howl of the wind roaring in his ears.

The ground rose up to meet him.

He threw out a hand in front of his face, not for the first time wishing that he could fly.

Then there was something warm yet cold, sharp yet gentle, cocooning against his body, softening the impact of falling from the sky. Still, he felt as though he'd been pummelled to death and was sure that his ribs were broken.

He might've blacked out for a few moments, for when he woke, it was to a warm, wet tongue licking his cheek, whimpering cries of "_Master_," against his ear, and what felt like soft fingers, gently trying to pry his clenched hand from its locked position around his chest.

"He is dead, of that I am certain," a strangely familiar feminine voice said gravely. "There is no pulse."

"Well, yeah, he fell from the sky. Not even I could survive that." The second voice was masculine and deep, and very much foreign. "Odd, though. He kinda feels like family. I don't think Father sired any children my age for a while, but one never knows with him."

Pegasus whimpered, pushing his muzzle deep into Percy's cheek.

_"I'm sorry, Master!"_ he begged desperately, thick, fat tears rolling off of his cheek. "_Please, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't—_"

"The borders have never failed before," the feminine voice —he couldn't remember, too many voices, why couldn't he remember?— said softly. "Thy should not have triggered them. They only react to gods, or offspring of them… or if he is a Fallen."

"A what?"

The girl seemed reluctant to answer.

"A Fallen, fallen gods. They are thrown from Olympus at a young age because they should not exist, or if they have offended Zeus in some way. There are many, but none survive past the first year of their descention. For one to have lived this long… either he has a very strong will, or is very powerful. Neither bodes well for the gods."

There was the sound of rummaging.

"If he's a demigod, nectar might help. If he's a Fallen, I figure it wouldn't hurt anyways."

Someone unscrewed the snakeskin pouch and held it to Percy's lips. He felt the cold rim touch his mouth, and as soon as the first drop of nectar spilled from the inside of the bottle, Percy's eyes flew open and he spewed out the contents, wiping his mouth.

"No need for that," he rasped, handing the snakeskin back to a stunned looking demigod. Immediately, he was assaulted by a sobbing horse, who shoved his head into Percy's lap, crying. It took several minutes of coaxing and reassurances to get Pegasus to calm down somewhat.

Then he turned his attention to the girl, and decided that maybe fainting again would be a good idea.

He wasn't in another dimension. Even if the gods won, she would still be dead. He was truly and wholly in the past.

Zoë Nightshade.

Of course, logically, he knew that she was still alive at this time period, but seeing her flushed with life, instead of that cold and grey corpse, sent a lightning shock through his body.

"Thy now resembles an overgrown fish," Zoë quipped dryly. Ah, her good old pick-on-Percy sense of humor. He'd missed it.

"It's not your beauty, I assure you," he threw back. Zoë flushed with anger, but the man beside her threw back his head and roared with laughter. She looked at her companion and sulked silently.

"'Tis not funny, Hercules," she protested.

Hercules wiped the tears from his eyes. "If you say so, my dear," he chuckled.

Percy got his first look at the legendary demigod, but didn't feel any particular awe.

_"—you're my greatest student, Percy. Even better that Hercules—"_

He had brown hair and deep, grey eyes, a flatter shade than Annabeth's had been. There were laugh lines around his eyes and corners of his mouth, and they were crinkled.

"What's your name, Fallen?"

There was that term again; Fallen.

"Percy."

Zoë wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"A filthy, common name," she sneered.

"It's short for Perseus, _Zoë_," Percy said, irritated.

She jerked in surprise, her silvery shift catching the during rays of the moon. Percy's hands clenched surreptitiously.

"How dost thou know my name?" she demanded. Percy sneered. It was alarmingly easy to detest this version of Zoë.

"I know more than the gods ever wished me to," he said, trying to play on the mysterious act, if only to avoid the questions. Still, it was the truth, and carried a very real edge of rancour in his voice.

"You feel very familiar," Hercules said, his eyes narrowed, no longer laughing. Now, they were cold and harsh. "Who are you, exactly? Are you friend, or foe?"

"I am neither." Percy pushed himself to his feet, using Pegasus as a crutch. His ribs gave an almighty twinge of pain, but it was rapidly healing underneath his skin, the bones knitting back together. One of the only perks of being a werewolf.

"Then what _are_ you?" Hercules persisted. Zoë was eyeing his chest in half-astonishment and half-confusion.

"How art thou alive?" Her tone was more curious than hostile. "And thy art healing faster than I would have thought possible, on par with the speed of gods or Titans."

_Guess they've never met werewolves,_ Percy thought dryly. Out loud, he replied, "It is a curse, as well as a blessing. The gods… they turned a blind eye. They let us suffer. They let us die."

"They?" Zoë inquired. "There art more of you?"

Percy shook his head. "There were. The rest are dead now. I am the last."

He looked down and fingered his photograph, and missed Zoë whispering to Hercules, "He is the last Fallen. He is not faking it."

"You're not sounding very pro-god right now," Hercules said, with narrowed eyes. "You know that as a son of Zeus, I'll have to uphold my duty to kill you."

If he thought that intimidation would scare Percy, he'd never been more wrong. Suddenly, those thoughtful green eyes turned cold and deadly; the eyes of a wolf, like Lupa's. His stance, while still seemingly relaxed, held a hint of aggressiveness to his loose posture.

"Oh," he chuckled darkly, ignoring Zoë's protests for them not to fight, or at least not to do it in the garden, "you're certainly welcome to try."

Hercules lunged at him, muscles rippling under his white tunic. Percy sidestepped easily, and blocked an overhead fist with one palm. His arm screamed under the crushing force, but his expression did not change and Hercules seemed stunned for a second, which was a second more than Percy needed to retaliate.

Percy kicked him between the legs (hey, the end of the whole damn world taught you to fight dirty) and when the demigod doubled forward in pain, he kneed him in the chin, slapped him in the face, and promptly knocked him out with a well-timed hit to the back of his neck.

Hercules' head snapped forwards; his entire body sagged and slumped to the ground.

Zoë watched them with wide eyes.

"What hast thine done to him?" she snarled, like a protective lioness.

Percy raised an indignant eyebrow.

"Me? You saw it all already!"

"Thy resorted to petty tricks! None have been able to defeat Hercules, _none_!"

"Well, I guess I'm not like the others," he shot back, his frustration beginning to peak to a dangerous level. "And sometimes I wish I was, but I'm not, so you can stop moaning about it and just suck it up! Your pretty boy over there isn't the only one that's been forced to fight against Hydras and the Furies and the gods themselves."

Zoë's mouth opened like a fish's. Then closed again. And opened, but there was nothing she could say. Percy exhaled slowly, through his mouth, and ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I lost my temper. I shouldn't have said that. I came here for answers, and I've found them, though they aren't the ones I've hoped to find. Goodbye, Zoë Nightshade, and may we meet again under better circumstances. Pegasus, we're going now, and—"

There was an enraged shout from behind him. Percy spun around to see Hercules charging at him, a rather noticeable limp in his gait. He hoped it bruised. There was a familiar bronze sword clutched in his hand, the edge rippling with sad light, as if the blade knew that it was going to be used against its true owner.

Anaklusmos was inscribed on the worn handle in Ancient Greek.

Riptide.

His.

Sudden fury coursed through his veins, burning hotly. Percy drew the adamantium sword. The balance was passable, but it was not perfect as Riptide had been.

"You… dare to humiliate… a son of Zeus?!" Hercules bellowed. Percy growled, swinging the sword around his index finger and gripping it to point forwards, his entire body crouched, the sword tip extending only an inch past his body. His right arm was drawn back, low and coiled, like a snake that was ready to strike.

"My lineage granted me no favors, and everything I've accomplished had to be through blood and sweat and tears. I've seen my world end, everyone that I've loved die before my eyes. Your name does not scare me, son of Zeus, and it would not matter to me if you were a son of Chaos himself!"

Hercules charged. Percy parried away his first blow, grimacing at the strength. He was only able to keep up because of his enhanced senses giving him a fraction of a seconds' warning before the strike landed. He twisted out of the way, flipping backwards to land in a crouch, the sword completing its smooth arc downwards.

"Is that the best you can do?" he asked mockingly. It probably wasn't a good idea to provoke Hercules further, but he couldn't help himself.

Zoë shouted, "_Stop_!" but neither of them listened. The flowers were getting trampled, bright smears of color against the ground.

Hercules clenched his hand and concentrated, his teeth gritting together. All signs of his previous amiability was gone, replaced with cold hate.

A slow, miniature tornado formed on his palm, swirling currents churning into a funnel that grew bigger and bigger. Lightning flickered, stippling up the sides before being swept to a new location.

Soon, it was easily ten stories high, cutting up flowers and tearing out great chunks of earth. Percy cursed under his breath. Water would only fuel the lightning, and hearth fire by the wind. Throwing out his hand, he concentrated on the feeling of being wrapped within layers upon layers of power, praying that whatever being had helped him before would do so now.

Then, there was the feeling of being stabbed, over and over, by thousands of sharp needles. He gritted his teeth, gasping in breaths that never came, and pushed what remaining energy to his extended arm, the prickling feeling going with it.

A short wedge of condensed wind and lightning, streaked with blue and black, wrapped around Percy's fist, forming a sharp point that enveloped him in its embrace.

The tornado swept him up, so close that he could see the grains of dirt churning within the belly of the storm.

Seconds passed in darkness.

Abruptly, the tornado fell away in chunks to reveal an exhausted and cut-up Hercules in the centre, hands on his knees, panting hard. Percy let the almost-solid sphere of wind and darkness drop away, perfectly unharmed underneath.

Landing lightly on his feet, he stalked soundlessly towards Hercules.

He threw his sword.

The tip cut through his tunic and pinned his shoulder to the wall. Hercules let out an almighty yell of pain, and lightning bellowed in the sky, but the Hesperides' borders deflected Zeus' bolt to land somewhere amongst the vast expanse of forest, far away.

Little cheat. "Hiding behind your daddy's legs, still?" Percy sneered.

Hot blood gushed. Percy drew closer. Hercules huddled back, like a frightened animal.

"I am not human," he hissed in his ear, ever so softly, so deceivingly gentle. "I do not _care_ for your petty squabbles. If you wish to keep your life, _stay out of my way."_

Hercules made to snarl a defiant answer, but Percy struck him in the temple (a little harder than was necessary, but hey, it felt good) and he crumpled like a puppet with strings cut.

Picking up Riptide from where it was dropped into the dirt, he ran a finger down the inscription with a loving air, wiping away the blood and dirt.

"Mine," he breathed possessively, savoring in the little bit of home he had left. The last reminder of the 'good old days,' back when they were all alive and happy. He closed his eyes against the torrent of bittersweet memories.

The sword hummed in his hand, warm and glowing, as if it knew that it belonged there. Something inside of him that had so long been empty since Riptide's demise, filled.

Zoë was staring at him, a bit angry, a bit scared, and altogether very creeped out, though she was too proud to say so. Her eyes cut between Riptide and him, and he was still gripping the sword like there was no tomorrow.

Percy almost snarled at her, but swallowed it down in time. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, and after a moment's regretful pause, he flipped over Riptide to offer the hilt to her.

"It's yours," he said dully.

She hesitated, almost as if she would give the sword to him.

It was wishful thinking, and they both knew it. Why would she give her prized possession to a total stranger, one who had also just pummelled her possibly-boyfriend into the dirt?

Her hand closed on the hilt and as soon as their contact ended, the yawning void opened and he felt more tired than ever. The adrenaline rush Anaklusmos had provided seeped away. He wanted to fall on his face, then and there.

Percy eyed the destruction that had been the garden, and a little childish part of his brain whined sulkily that it was mostly Hercules' fault, really.

"Ah… sorry about your garden." He gestured vaguely at what might've been a rose, once upon a time, slightly sheepish. Zoë's lips twitched ever-so-slightly.

"It is alright. Gardens can be re-planted. Of course, Hercules will be helping me in that endeavour." Her smile was slightly wicked, and Percy felt bad for the demigod… before he decided that who was he kidding, he enjoyed every second of it.

"It was nice to meet you, Zoë Nightshade. I hope we meet again one day. Call on me, should you require any assistance."

With her slight smile and lightened eyes, she looked so much like the Zoë he knew that his breath seized. Hastily hiding his expression in Pegasus' mane, he mounted and sat upright, letting his face come alive under the light of the moon.

"The offer goes both ways. Fare thee well, Perseus, Destroyer of Worlds."

* * *

><p>Percy sighed and stretched his arms over his head. He grimaced as several joints popped back into place. Turning his stiff neck to the side, he tried to work the kinks out of his muscles, but to his chagrin, it did not work.<p>

"Pegasus, what time is it?"

_"Six notches before the sun's zenith, Master!"_

Six hours before noon. It was six o'clock in the morning. Percy grumbled under his breath.

So early. How did he wake up so early? They'd left the Garden at around midnight, and he could've easily slept a couple more hours. There was an insistent prickling at the base of his skull, a deep, low throb of pain.

Percy tried to massage the feeling out with his fingertips, but it only made the situation worse.

"I feel like my head's going to explode," he groaned out loud. Pegasus' head swivelled in alarm, and they almost flew into a flock of birds. For his sake, Percy quickly added, "Not literally, Pegasus, but it's close. It's like I'm trying to go upriver on a waterfall."

_"Go with the flow?"_ Pegasus suggested.

Percy nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I think I will. Headache's getting worse. Stay alert in case anything happens. I'll probably be out of it for a while."

"_Okay, Master!"_ Pegasus chirped brightly.

Percy closed his eyes and let go. Imagined that there was a great barrier withholding the flow of information. And thought of it breaking.

It was as though someone had stabbed a railroad spike through his eyes and was rubbing salt in the wounds. Percy's body arched backwards, and he vaguely felt Pegasus shifting in alarm. His hands came up to up his bleeding eyes, and he became well aware that he was bleeding from his nose, mouth, and ears as well.

Then he was pulled under in a shipwreck of sound.

Confusion. Lights.

Echoing voices.

It was like someone had put him into a brightly lit tunnel with content turns, zig-zagging deeper into the subconscious. He caught snatches of images, fragments of voices that could not be pieced into a whole.

Fire.

_"—please, anyone, anyone who's listening, save my child, please, please, I'll do anything—"_

The world was red. Red like soup.

Churning. Boiling.

Skin was boiling, too, melting off to reveal charred white bone.

A crescendo of voices, hollow and ringing. It was meaningless babble.

_"I'm poor, but I have ten sheep still, I'll slaughter them all, just spare my family and I! Oh wide-ruling Olympians, what have we done to anger you so? My family… we have done nothing but honor you!"_

Houses, stacked like tinder boxes. Caving in, the roof falling in a shower of sparks. Sizzling flesh. Screams cut short.

_"—anyone who's listening, save us—"_

Like the gods listened.

Like they cared.

What a joke.

Far in the house of the sheep-owner, a rag doll caught fire. Its owner was long dead. The little girl. Four, five years old. Her parents cried her name, but they wouldn't have long, either. Soon, they would be together again for all of eternity.

In endless sleep.

Percy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Fire skirted around a white marble temple and went around, leaving the building unsinged.

Selfish.

_"He doesn't have a pulse, but he's still bleeding so quickly… how is that possible?"_

Charred black ash. Pepper flakes.

Someone caught in fallen mortars begged for life. He was ignored. Utterly helpless.

The Fates loomed closer. One cut the string.

Snip-snip went the scissors.

The body went limp, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood that was rapidly evaporating in the heat. His mouth was open in a grotesque smile, baring bloody teeth.

As if there was something morbidly funny about the entire situation.

_"—oh gods, he's breathing, quickly, someone staunch the bleeding! Get the bandages!"_

Ground cracked. Forks of hot white rained down from the heavens.

Firestorm.

_"I'm sorry for everything I've done, please let me go to Elysium, I want to see her again, I need to…"_

There were no more screams. Only the quiet crackle of consuming fire.

Snowflakes of ash.

Oil-like pages of books. Calligraphy. Age old knowledge. Gone in a brilliant torrent of fire, ascending to the heavens.

A burnt fragment fluttered from the sky.

_'And I hope—'_ it read.

The rest was gone. Crumbled to ashes.

He felt like laughing at the poet. How foolish. How utterly, stupidly naiive. Just like he'd been, once upon a time. Hope did nothing at all. It brought nothing but sorrow and disappointment.

_(he knew from experience)_

They died. He saw the souls, wailing, lamenting the loss of life. Milky white spirits rose in a thick haze, reflecting in the light of the liquid sun, dying in its blanket across the horizon.

All the while, the moon burned bright. The stars came out. Nothing was amiss for inexorable nature. Life went on, as usual.

Witnesses to the violence.

Percy closed his eyes.

Multi-colored light against a backdrop of sky.

There was someone gripping his shoulders so tightly that it hurt, shaking him back and forth. The imprints of her palms seared against his shoulder blades.

Abstract colors painted the backs of his eyelids.

He opened his eyes.

Ethereal light glinted off of dark blonde hair. For a moment, he thought he'd died with the fire and went to Elysium. He almost wished he did.

But the eyes were wrong. They were silver. A beautiful silver, yes, but in that moment, they could've been the ugliest shade of puce and he wouldn't even have cared.

"Who…?" he croaked.

The woman smiled. Light flickered off of her body, and for the first time, he noticed how her belly bulged. It must've been an awkward balance of finess and flexibility to be in her position right now.

"You're…"

"Five months pregnant," she smiled, positively glowing at the thought. One hand came to cup her stomach in a tender gesture. "My youngest of three, soon to come to this world."

Percy swiped the heel of his hand over his mouth, and grimaced with it only served to make him look worse. Like he'd just stepped out of a chainsaw massacre movie.

"Thank you for healing me. I must go."

Percy pushed himself to his feet, just as the woman raised a fine eyebrow.

"Heal you? Oh, no, I did no such thing, you healed yourself. It's a marvellous regeneration ability you have there."

Percy tensed, but relaxed when she didnt seem to know any more. There was a sudden prickling at the base of his spine, but when he turned around, there was nothing there except for the woman, stowing something securely into a pocket of her clothes. She didn't look up at him until she was finished with her task.

"Well," she smiled again, this time like the sun, "I ought to be going before my children begin to wonder where I am. It was nice to meet you…?"

"Percy," he supplied.

"It was nice to meet you, Percy. Take care."

For a pregnant woman, she could disappear pretty fast. Pegasus came and butted his muzzle into Percy's side, hard, almost knocking him off balance.

_"Don't scare me like that, Master,"_ he sighed in relief. Percy stroked his silky mane quietly.

"Think you're up for one more stop tonight?"

• • •

He slid off of Pegasus' back and patted the horse's snout.

"Wait for me by the thicket of trees over there. I won't be long. This isn't something you'd want to see."

Pegasus looked uncertain, but nodded his head and trotted towards their meeting point. Percy took a deep breath, step forward, and parted the trees.

Immediately, the sick smell of burning flesh filled his nose, choking in intensity. He covered his nose with his hand, eyes watering. He tried to squint through the smoke.

There was nothing but charcoal lumps and half-burned bones.

A giant crematorium.

In the distance, like a warden looming over its prisoners, the temples gleamed, unharmed, over the horizon. Percy walked towards them, passing rows upon rows of burned houses. Some still had a semblance of a roof, while others had only one beam remaining, trying to straddle the walls.

The temple of Zeus stood in the centre, all gleaming white marble and precious stones. A depiction of him defeating Kronos stood in bas relief to the side, and Percy felt his lip curl into a sneer. No one ever remembered the demigods that fought for them, that had a hand in taking down the gods' foes. They only fought out of loyalty, and look where that got them.

Because to the gods, their children were nothing more than numbers. Cannon fodder.

To the left side of the pillar, there was a bloodstained handprint. It smeared down one side, twisting over to the other, as though the owner had slipped and fell. A half-burnt skeleton laid there, one hand outstretched to reach for something that was too far away. As if even in death, it could feel that the temple would be safe from harm.

A smiling teddy bear laid in the temple.

It had been thrown there by the skeleton. A child's last selfless act.

Percy picked it up.

The back was slightly singed, but otherwise it was fine. He turned it around and around in his hands, still as a statue. If anyone were to look at that moment, they would see a motionless figure carved out of stone, head dropped to his chin, staring silently at something in his hands.

Percy heard a far whinny from the distance. He looked up, squinting his eyes against the light of the rising dawn.

Funny. Dawn symbolized hope. Percy saw nothing but ashes.

He took one last look back at Zeus' temple, before turning away stiffly and leaving it behind.

All that was left of the entire village was a puddle of blood dried on white marble, the stench of acrid smoke, and the smiling teddy bear.


End file.
